


Two Doors Down

by danfanciesphil (thejigsawtimess)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Band, Drums, Lovesick!Phil, M/M, Mystery Jets - Freeform, Pining, Songfic, Sweet, inspired by a song, lonely!Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 44,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/danfanciesphil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan drums in the dead of night to dispel the quiet. Phil can hear him from two doors down. </p><p>(Based on the song Two Doors Down by the Mystery Jets)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I strongly recommend listening to Two Doors Down by the Mystery Jets before reading this if you haven't already. It's not very long and it's an adorable song. If you hear it, this fic will be much more entertaining, I swear.
> 
> Here is a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2Dl3VQ2K2U
> 
> Now, don't you just wanna play that on repeat as you read? That's what I've been doing... 
> 
> xxx

“I think I’m in love.” Phil admits as soon as his mouthful of cider slips down his throat.

 

Chris and PJ, sat either side of him on the stained, threadbare sofa, turn towards him, bewildered.

 

“What?” PJ asks just as Chris descends into uncontrollable laughter. “With who?”

 

“With the boy next door.” Phil says glumly, taking another sip from his can and grimacing.

 

He hates cider. It’s all they can get their hands on, though, at their age.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” PJ asks him, chuckling along with Chris.

 

“You don't have to become a walking cliché just because we can't think of anything to write about, Phil." Chris says, rolling his eyes.

 

“He doesn’t actually live next door.” Phil hastily corrects himself. “He lives, like, two doors down from me.”

 

“Oh, that’s different then.” Chris says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

Phil stares at the wall in front of them, covered from floor to ceiling in Vinyl record jackets.

 

 _MCR, Muse, Green Day, The Wombats, Vampire Weekend_ …

 

He’s pretty sure that if he closed his eyes he could name every single one, probably even in the order they’re blu-tacked to PJ’s garage wall.

 

He’s starting to wonder why he brought this up at all. PJ and Chris are hardly the type of people that will understand or even sympathise with Phil’s mad infatuation with his hot new neighbour.

 

It’s the cider’s fault. It’s loosening his lips, bringing the things he’s trying to ignore to the forefront of his mind.

 

He should have protested when Chris suggested they cut band practice short. He should have insisted they keep trying to break through their collective writer’s block until they managed to get some actual lyrics down for the new song they’ve written.

 

But he didn’t.

 

“Don’t see you doing anything to help.” Phil mumbles into his can, and Chris laughs.

 

“Not true. I am hard at work creating my own love drama to fuel our song-writing.” Chris argues, slinging his arm around PJ and giving him a leer. “PJ’s the one being uncooperative.”

 

PJ half-heartedly tries to shrug Chris off, unsuccessfully.

 

“To be honest, maybe it should be a love song.” PJ says thoughtfully; Chris’ face lights up and PJ rolls his eyes. “Not about Chris and I.”

 

“Why a love song?” Phil asks, mind half on other things.

 

“Because sex sells, Phil.” Chris tells him, scooting a little closer to PJ and winking at him.

 

“ _Love_ sells.” PJ corrects, wrinkling his nose – either at Chris or at the prospect of love, Phil isn’t sure which. “That’s all people wanna hear songs about. Try as we might, we’re not gonna get anywhere singing about ‘Forever Trains’, ‘Snokoplasm’ and Chris’ obsession with crabsticks.”

 

“Hey, _Crab Love_ is our best song, easily.” Chris says defensively, looking hurt.

 

PJ exchanges a look with Phil, and they both smirk. “Phil, if there really is a guy next door or whatever, pursue it and report back. With a catchy new chorus, if possible.”

 

Phil glances across at his guitar, abandoned by the door in favour of the cider he’s currently drinking.

 

He takes another sip, sighing into his can. If only it were that simple. 

 

* * *

 

 

Dan arrived in this nowhere-ville town around two weeks ago, in the dead of night. It had taken an impossibly long time to travel up to ‘The North’ from London, and by the time his Dad had tried and tested each ‘shortcut’ that led them further from their destination, it was pretty late.

 

As soon as they pulled into the dark, unlit street, Dan felt his soul clawing to be free of his body, aching to fly back to London. In the capital, every borough is alive at all times of night and day. The buzz of excitement and promise hangs in the air, and anything seems possible.

 

Here, wherever this place is, that buzz is nowhere to be found. There isn’t even the slightest fizz. It’s dead quiet, almost eerily so. Apart from the sheep bleating and the soft rustle of wind in the trees, the silence on this street is almost deafening.

 

Dan didn’t sleep at all that first night, and he hasn’t had much luck sleeping since then. He hates the quiet, he always has. It just invites his brain to over-think, to over-analyse or become paranoid.

 

The only thing that drives the quiet away is his drum set. Once he unpacks that, he has a certain amount of solace. Back in London, he played all the time, morning until night, the drumsticks making his hands sore and his wrists ache. He used to do it because he enjoyed it. Now he does it whenever he feels the silence pressing in on him becoming too much. Unfortunately for the neighbours on this idyllic suburban street, this is usually in the dead of night.

 

They’ve been here just over two weeks now, and Dan has heard his tired-sounding parents fending off more than a few angry, complaining neighbours.

 

His parents confront him about it, of course, but they are fairly relaxed people, so Dan just explains that he’s doing it because he’s sad and misses the noise of London, and they back off.

 

They’re creative types, his parents. They believe mostly in letting Dan find his way through life through music, art and self-expression. They provide him with love, support and trust, and after that they pretty much let him get on with it.

 

It’s okay, as a parenting technique, Dan supposes, though he often feels sort of... lost.

 

The next time the neighbours complain, his parents don’t mention it to him.

 

His family are used to Dan’s drum playing by now, having gone through years of it, so they don’t really care. Even Dan’s brother Adrian, at ten years old, can sleep through Dan’s relentless pounding.

 

The days go by, as do the nights, and the thickening silence doesn’t subside, so Dan’s midnight playing continues, as do the complaints of their new neighbours.

 

Dan does think it’s slightly unfair of him, to be making a bad reputation for the Howell household when they’ve only just moved here, but then again, he never wanted to move here.

 

The drums are no real substitute for the hubbub of city life, but they are certainly better than the alternative. It’s so lonely out here in the countryside. Sometimes, if he plays for long enough, and loudly enough, he can get to a point where he’s so lost in the sound that he almost, almost forgets that.

 

* * *

 

 

Just after midnight, the drums start again.

 

Just like every other night since the new guy moved into the house down the street. It starts off with a simple beat, then gradually the complexity of the rhythm increases, as does the tempo, until Phil’s mouth falls open, awestruck by the sound.

 

Just like every night.

 

He barely sleeps anymore, now that the drumming is in his life. He can’t drown it out, but even if he could he wouldn’t want to. Phil has always been a musical child, and he can recognise a mind-blowing drum solo anywhere.

 

Even through two sets of walls.

 

His parents aren’t so happy about it. They complain about it constantly, grumbling about the ‘incessant noise’ that kept them awake all night as they eat their breakfast. A few days ago, Phil’s Dad even went round there to ‘have a word’ with the guy’s parents.

 

Phil had hidden in his room when that wonderful event had occurred. How embarrassing. Not that Phil’s Dad’s ‘word’ had any effect whatsoever on the drumming guy’s late-night practices.

 

Phil has heard his parents talking to other people in the street about the noise, too. Nobody is happy about it, it seems, apart from Phil.

 

From the sounds of things, Phil’s dad isn’t the first to make a noise complaint, nor will he be the last, if it continues like it is. Phil wishes it lessened his attraction to the drumming guy at all, knowing that he’s keeping the whole street up with his insensitive decision to play so late, but it doesn’t.

 

Try as he might to go for the nice guys, that’s the kind of guy Phil likes.

 

As he lies in bed listening each night, he wonders what would happen if he could ever muster up the nerve to go round to the guy’s house, speak to him. Maybe see if he wants to come over for a jam session or something. The idea that Phil could ever manage something so terrifying is laughable, honestly. 

 

The boy that lives two doors down is way, way out of Phil's league. He waits at the bus stop with Phil every morning, so for the past two weeks that the guy has lived here, Phil has had a good chance to observe him.  

 

The first thing that Phil had noticed, obviously, is that the guy is insanely hot.

 

He’s tall and willowy, with dark hair and hazelnut-coloured eyes. He wears black skinny jeans to school, his school shirt over the top, tie loosely knotted, which seems unthinkably reckless and cool to Phil. Sometimes his drumsticks poke out of the top of his backpack, shredded at the tips from where he's slammed them against his kit all night.

 

He's barely glanced Phil's way in all the time they've waited together in the mornings. He always has his headphones rammed in his ears, blaring loud music that Phil sometimes recognises as Fall Out Boy or a number of other bands he likes. 

 

Martyn, Phil's older brother lives and attends Uni in Manchester now, but he still visits on the weekends sometimes. Last time he came round, Martyn told him that according to the town rumour-mill, the guy and his family moved here from London. _London._

 

Basically, the boy from two doors down is far too cool for him. The thought of approaching him for even a conversation fills Phil with dread. He'd probably embarrass himself horribly in the first sentence. It's better that he stays quiet, and lets Dan think of him as the mysterious, brooding type.  

 

Phil chuckles to himself as he thinks this, eyelids drooping as the drumming continues on into the night. 

 

Yeah right, he thinks with a sigh. Who is he kidding? The guy doesn't think of Phil at all. 

  

* * *

 

 

Things get marginally better once school starts. 

 

Although he loved most things about London, Dan has to admit that the school is much, much nicer here. There aren’t metal detectors in the entrance hall, for one. Also, there are fewer people that look as though they stalk the halls with the sole purpose of singling out someone to hospitalise.

 

Even the teachers are marginally friendlier; they aren’t exhausted like they so often were at Dan’s last school, probably because the classes are smaller and the students actually listen for the majority of the time. Aside from the irritating fact that they have to wear uniforms despite being in the Sixth Form - something Dan's parents had tactfully left out when telling him about the school - Dan doesn't mind it. 

 

After a few days at Bacup & Rawtenstall Grammar (referred to by students as BRG), most of the school have gotten over the apparently _insanely_ exciting fact that Dan is a _new kid,_ from _London_ no less.

 

Once things die down, Dan actually makes some friends.

 

Well, perhaps a more accurate way of describing it would be that they make friends with him. An even more accurate term might be that they _adopt_ him. It’s Louise that makes the first move to initiate him into their pre-existing gang.

 

Dan’s just minding his own business on the bus to school one morning, near the back, headphones in. His bag is deliberately placed on the seat beside him so that he doesn't have to make conversation with anyone, and he stares out of the window, mind on other things. 

 

In no time however, his bag is being pushed to the ground, and a blonde, pretty girl with an infectious look of mischief in her eye seats herself beside him. Three of her shirt buttons are open, making her shirt stretch provocatively over her cleavage, and she wears an array of silver and pink necklaces around her throat.

 

Her cheeks and eyelids sparkle in a mildly hypnotic way; Dan admires it as it reflects the light, immediately wanting to try whatever glitter she’s used on his own face.

 

“I saw you.” She tells him sombrely, though there’s a definite glint in her eye.

 

“…What?” Dan asks, pulling out his headphones in confusion.

 

“When you got on the bus.” Louise explains, starting to smirk. “I saw your headphones get tangled in that girl’s handbag.”

 

Dan feels his face heating immediately. His eyes dart for the nearest exit, but considering he's on a bus hurtling down some back country lane at sixty miles per hour, he doesn't think he's going to get away from this situation very easily.

 

He’d thought he’d managed to get away without anyone noticing his little clumsy moment. As he made his way to his seat earlier, his headphones had become ensnared in the straps of some girl’s handbag, yanking themselves out of his ears. He’d managed to untangle them fairly quickly, but not before he spilled some of the contents of the handbag, including a couple of the girl’s spare tampons.

 

He thought he’d been able to stuff everything back in the bag without her or anyone else noticing, but apparently this girl had been watching and laughing the whole time. Dan readies himself for the taunting, but it doesn’t come.

 

Instead, she giggles and reaches across to squeeze his hand. “I won’t tell. I’m just relieved to have found another secretly socially inept person.”

 

Dan can’t help but laugh at that, partly in relief that she’s being so nice about his humiliating situation. “That’s me, alright.”

 

“I’m Louise.” She tells him, grinning. “You’re the new kid, right?”

 

"Dan." He tells her, smiling uncertainly.

 

Honestly, he's a little taken aback by Louise’s brazen confidence and bright, glittery attitude. It’s not that he’s not enjoying her sudden presence, far from it, it’s just unexpected. He's not used to being singled out like this.

 

“Come meet my friends, Dan.” Louise says brightly, taking him by the wrist and pulling him sharply.

 

There isn’t much room for argument in her statement, so Dan grabs his bag from the floor, stuffs his headphones in his pocket and lets Louise drag him to the very back of the bus, where he’s promptly introduced to the people who quickly become his new group of friends.

 

* * *

 

 

The new guy sits at the back of the bus with all the cool kids, of course. It doesn’t take long for them to adopt him. It’s like a rule of the secondary school status quo – if someone new and exciting and cool comes to town, he or she must immediately be absorbed into the existing cool group.

 

It's predictable that Phil would lose the new guy to Cat, Louise, Zoe, Felix, Alfie and the rest of them before he'd even gotten a chance to speak with him, but that doesn't make any easier for Phil to have to watch.

 

He still does, though. Watch, that is.

 

Phil stares at them all as discreetly as possible during the two twenty-minute bus rides he and the ‘two-doors-down guy’ (as Phil has decided to name him) take each day before and after school.

 

They look like something out of an American teen comedy, all of them laughing and joking about at the back of the bus, flirting and talking loudly, looking as though they're having the time of their lives. Normally, Phil doesn't pay them much attention. He's never felt any particular draw to those people; he's content with his alternative little clique of Chris and PJ. Besides, he doesn't consider himself unpopular. 

 

Three weeks pass by, bringing nothing but more near-sleepless nights and heartache to Phil's tormented soul. 

 

Now that two-doors-down guy is a part of that group, he finds himself avidly interested in them. From what Phil observes on the bus each day, two-doors-down guy is a little quieter than the others, preferring to laugh along on the outskirts rather than butting in with crude comments as the others do. Mostly he talks to Louise; as the weeks pass, Phil watches the two of them grow close. 

 

It only reminds him of the ever growing distance he's putting between himself and the boy his stupid heart has decided to fall for, the longer Phil doesn't talk to him. They wait at the same bus stop, alone, every day for crying out loud. It shouldn't be this difficult just to say hi. 

 

Louise managed it easily, Phil saw. She just slid into the bus seat beside him, and that was that. They were friends. 

 

Try as he might to stop them, Phil finds his feelings of jealousy curling around his insides, making him tetchy and irritable. When he finds Chris and PJ in the mornings, fresh off the bus, he's usually in a fairly bad mood. 

 

PJ and Chris poke fun at him for it, knowing the reason why. Phil often wonders why he ever chose them as his closest friends. 

 

* * *

 

His new friends are fun, and Dan is finding school just about bearable because of them, but the minute he closes the door behind himself when he gets home each day, the silence swarms again.

 

It fills every crevice of the normally empty house, suffocating Dan and isolating him at once.

 

Dan is often left home alone for hours before anyone else comes back, and this does not help his situation one bit. His parents are environmental conservationists, and are constantly out on some mission to save the planet. The reason they wanted to move up here was to 'educate rural England’ or some bollocks like that.

 

"And think about all those beautiful moors and farmlands!" Dan's mum had said in rapture when she'd informed him of the move.

 

She hadn't mentioned that she and Dan's dad would prefer being on those moors or farms to spending time with him at home. They're just always on some protest or undertaking a project or 'spreading the word' about the benefits of renewable energy sources. 

 

Basically, they’re never around.

 

Yes, they’re saving the planet, and Dan’s proud of them, but he's their son. He can’t help feeling like he’s falling by the wayside.

 

Adrian is too young to notice. Their parents encourage him to engage in any and every extra-curricular activity, so he's constantly at football practice or chess club or boy scouts. Right now Dan thinks he's round at his language tutor's house, learning Latin or something equally impressive.  

 

The point of his parents encouraging Adrian to do all these mad activities, in Dan's opinion, is to distract him from the realisation that Mr & Mrs Howell are basically never here to look after him. Dan realised the harsh truth of it long ago, but he supposes Adrian might not be able to swallow it so well.

 

So, as a result, Dan comes home each day to an empty house, more or less without fail. To combat the feelings of stifling loneliness, he’ll either take advantage of his new friends and their hospitality and not come home at all, or failing that, he’ll blast his Muse vinyl and dance around his room.

 

If the silence becomes unbearable, his drum kit is always waiting to help him beat it back into the shadows as best he can.

 

* * *

 

 

“Any luck with your boy-next-door situation?” PJ asks out of the blue at band practice one night.

 

“Oh… um, yeah, sort of.” Phil lies, focusing his attention on tuning his guitar.

 

“Phil,” PJ says in his callout tone of voice. “Either you’re dropping subtle hints that you’re a furry by slowly building up your panda cosplay makeup each day…” Chris chuckles at this from where he’s sprawled on the sofa. “Or you’re not sleeping because you’re up all night thinking about whatshisname.”

 

Phil blushes a little, rubbing his darkly-circled eyes. He hadn't thought it was that bad. Maybe he should start taking naps in the afternoon.

 

“What is his name, anyway?” Chris asks, his eyes closed as he strums the bass guitar slung across his lap.

 

Phil shrugs, not bothering to answer either of them properly. They’ll only tease him, after all.

 

“Wait,” Chris says, eyes peeling open. He sits up a little. “You don’t even know his name, do you?”

 

PJ looks up from where he’s adjusting the mic-stand.

 

Phil blushes harder. “So?”

 

Chris immediately bursts into laughter, and PJ frowns pityingly.

 

“How can you be so hung up on someone you don’t even know the name of?” PJ asks, and Phil shrugs again.

 

“I dunno. He’s… he’s just…” Phil starts to say, but finds he can’t grasp hold of the words he needs to describe the guy who’s captured his heart.

 

“I hear him.” Phil says eventually, his cheeks practically scalding him at this point. 

 

Chris scoffs. “You _hear_ him?”

 

“Yes.” Phil snaps, glaring at Chris. “I hear him. He plays the drums late at night.”

 

“Fucking fantastic!” Chris exclaims, standing up suddenly. “We need a drummer, what are the chances?!”

 

“Is he any good?” PJ asks, and Phil rolls his eyes.

 

“He’s phenomenal, Peej. Slight problem – I’ve never even spoken to him.” Phil lifts his guitar strap over his head, letting the instrument rest comfortably at waist-level. “Oh,” Phil says into his microphone, “and I’m in love with him.”

 

“Come off it.” Chris says, wandering over to his position on the right of Phil, his own guitar round his neck. “You can’t be in love with someone just because you like their drumming.”

 

“I’m telling you, you can.” Phil says, aware he sounds pathetic but too tired to care. “It’s driving me crazy.” Phil sighs, thinking of every night he’s lain awake in bed, listening to the drumming until he feels himself become delirious with exhaustion and desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

 

PJ and Chris exchange a mildly concerned glance.

 

“Okay, that’s it, I’ve gotta get a look at him.” Chris says determinedly. “I’m coming round after practice.”

 

“What?” Phil asks hurriedly, heart suddenly picking up speed.

 

“Me too.” PJ agrees, shrugging at Phil when he notices the betrayed look in his eyes. “What? I need to get a look at this potential muse of yours. If you can’t write a song about him, maybe we could take a stab at it.”

 

“Then I’ll point him out in the hallway at school!” Phil protests.

 

“Why wait?” Chris asks, and Phil can’t think of a good enough reason.

 

PJ nods in agreement and Phil sighs, glancing between them.

 

Both Chris and PJ begin another conversation, deliberating over which song they should practise first. It’s useless to protest; anything Phil says at this point will just convince his two best friends to come over even more.

 

They’re relentless, and nosy as fuck.

 

So, reluctantly, he places his fingers in position for their first song, _Forever Train_ , and prays to Buffy that two-doors-down guy won’t be home when they get back to Phil’s.

 

* * *

 

 

The needle of his record player starts making that crackling white noise that Dan associates with dread, because it means the record has ended and his parents still aren’t home.

 

The absence of voices or clatter in the house is so noticeable that it's making Dan anxious. He gnaws his lip, lifting himself off his bed. 

 

He's been mindlessly scrolling through Twitter for the past half hour, but he can't concentrate on that with no background noise. He shudders, hating the pressing silence, and goes to place the needle back at the start of the album.

 

It’s _Muse_ ,  _The Resistance_. A fantastic album, in his opinion. Possibly the best ever made.

 

He wanders over to his window and opens it a little, just enough that he can feel a sharp whip of cool air against his skin. He hums as he looks out at the street, lifeless and boring as ever. He has to admit that it's pretty, though. More trees than any street in London, that's for sure.  

 

His fingers begin tapping on the window ledge, playing along to the beat of _Uprising_. He smiles to himself, relaxing slightly as the familiar beat sounds behind Matt Bellamy's crooning. It's so comforting to hear it, and to know that the beat will never change. To know that no matter what happens, Dan can always play his vinyl of this album, and on the first song, he'll be able to tap out the exact beat of the drums. 

 

Almost instinctively, Dan heads over to his drum set and sits down. He holds his sticks in his hands for a moment, letting them warm up in his palms as he nods his head to the beat of the next song, which the album is named after - _Resistance_.

 

Beginning tentatively at first, Dan starts to tap along to it on the snare. Then, as his confidence in his own memory of the beat grows, he starts to drum louder, his foot joining in on the bass pedal, his flamboyant side peeking out occasionally to smash a cymbal here and there.

 

Before he knows it, he’s pounding along to the song like he’s live on stage with Matt Bellamy himself, grinning from ear to ear as he plays along with his favourite band. His forehead and neck grow damp, his muscles ache and his palms go clammy, but his smile stays on.

 

He forgets about the silence for a while.

 

* * *

 

 

As luck would have it, not only is two-doors-down guy at home, but he’s drumming loudly enough for Phil, Chris and PJ to hear it from the second they step off the bus at the end of the street.

 

“Woah.” PJ breathes, stopping to listen. “You weren’t kidding.”

 

“I think I might be in love with him too.” Chris says after a moment, sounding awestruck.

 

PJ splutters and Chris turns to him, threading his arm through PJ’s. “I’m only joking, Peej, don’t worry.” He brings his mouth closer to PJ’s ear. “Guys as hot as me don’t go for drummers anyway.”

 

"Too busy creeping on the lead guitarists." PJ snaps, attempting to shove Chris off yet again. 

 

Phil barely listens to them, he’s too entranced by those drums. He’d know that beat anywhere. It’s _Resistance_ by _Muse_. Two-doors-down guy is playing along to his favourite band.

 

He sighs, wantonly. As if Phil could be any more attracted to him.

 

“Well,” PJ says once they start walking again, the drum noise crescendoing as they approach Phil’s house. “If you ever grow some balls and actually talk to the dude, he’s in the band no questions asked.”

 

They stop outside Phil’s, all three of them craning their necks to the open attic room window two doors down. It’s obvious that’s where the drums are coming from. Not only that, but the guy is blasting the Muse album, apparently playing along to it.

 

They’re all silent for a moment, just listening.

 

“And you said he’s hot, too?” Chris asks eventually, dumbstruck. Phil nods in quiet despair. “Fucking hell Phil, you need to lock this shit down.”

 

Phil laughs, but it falls a little flat. It’s fine for Chris and PJ to joke, and he’s quite happy to join in, but the truth is this is torture. He’s in love with this guy and he doesn’t even know his name.

 

Even worse, he’ll never be able to get the guy to glance his way, because he’s so obviously miles out of Phil’s league.

 

He stares up at the slightly ajar window, forlorn. Still, he supposes, a guy can dream.

 

* * *

 

 

“Um, h-hi.”

 

Dan only just hears the words over the sound of Patrick Stump’s. He turns around, surprised, pulling out one of his earbuds.

 

The boy standing behind him shifts awkwardly, looking as if he’d rather take that greeting back if he could. It’s not that Dan hasn’t noticed the cute guy that stands at the bus stop with him every day before, but as he’s never said a word to Dan, he’d assumed he wasn’t interested in making small talk.

 

Apparently, that may not be the case.

 

Dan lifts a hand, uncertainly. “Hi.”

 

The boy clears his throat, his big blue eyes darting about nervously. Oh here we go again, Dan thinks, groaning internally. The guy is feeling forced to say hi because Dan's been acting like a standoffish twat, again. 

 

“You’re the new guy, right?” The boy asks hesitantly, flicking his jet-black fringe out of his eyes.

 

Dan watches the movement, mildly mesmerised by it. Up close, it's suddenly very evident that the guy is gorgeous. He's pale and skinny, with cheekbones that could cut steel, resting below wide, darkly fringed eyes that Dan can't decipher the colour of. Upon first glance, they seem blue, but as Dan stares, he sees chartreuse and violet and gold.

 

Honestly, Dan's surprised that he hasn't really noticed just how pretty this guy is before. He must have been zoning him out entirely each day, too preoccupied with thoughts of his own bleak situation to see what's right beside him. No wonder the guy seems uncomfortable right now. He's evidently decided that standing beside Dan in silence every day is too weird, and feels obligated to say something. 

 

Christ, Dan thinks, berating himself. His lack of social etiquette is utterly astounding sometimes. 

 

“Yeah, I moved here just over a month ago.” Dan replies, eyes flicking instinctively towards his house.

 

“Yeah, you live, like, two doors down from me.” The boy says, averting his eyes.

 

Oh, fuck.

 

Dan heart sinks, and he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, feeling horrendous.

 

“Wow, um,” Dan says, at a loss for how to apologise for the amount of times he’s probably kept this poor guy up until three in the morning. “Poor you. I’m sorry. About... you know. The drumming.”

 

It sounds lame, even to himself, and Dan wishes again that he weren’t such a socially inept fool, as Louise would say. This guy has probably been waiting for the chance to call him out on his annoying un-neighbourly behaviour since the first time Dan strolled up to the bus stop.

 

“No,” the boy says quickly, taking Dan by surprise. “No, don’t be sorry. I like it.”

 

Dan blinks at him, sure he must have misheard.

 

“You _like_ it?”

 

“Well, I mean,” the boy says hastily, hitching up his shoulder bag, “what I mean is I don’t mind it. You’re really good.”

 

Dan raises his eyebrows in surprise, then huffs a quiet laugh. “Not sure many other people on this street would agree with you.”

 

“Trust me, you are.” The boy assures him. “I’m in a band and stuff. I know a good drummer when I hear one.”

 

Of course, Dan thinks, his cheeks warming. Of course he's in a band. Dan can imagine that easily. An image of the guy before him under stage lighting, his eyes ablaze from the thrill of it as he rips a solo out of his guitar swims into Dan's brain. 

 

This is so unfair, Dan thinks, feeling himself latch onto that fantasy. So now, not only does Dan find out he has a hot new neighbour listening to his drumming each night, but he discovers that very neighbour is also in a band of his own. 

 

He groans internally, thinking about his own pathetic, monotonous solo drum sessions. And this beautiful boy has been forced to lie awake listening to every one, probably critiquing it mercilessly and wishing the amateur hour would end.

 

“Thanks.” Dan mumbles, not believing the guy at all; he feels stupid and embarrassed now. "You're nice but I know it's annoying. Don't worry, I'll try and keep my practicing to daylight hours."

 

The guy is staring at him strangely, looking as though he's unsure what to say. 

 

Probably too nice to agree with him, Dan reasons. He turns from the boy, unable to hold his gaze any longer, pretty as it may be.

 

He looks down the street; the bus is coming, at long last. He grabs his bag off the ground and hooks it over one shoulder.

 

“Well, sorry I kept you up.” Dan tells the other boy, who furrows his brow.

 

"You... it's okay." He says, and Dan cringes.

 

He's being way too lovely about this, and it's not helping.

 

The bus pulls up and the door hisses open. “See you around.”

 

He climbs on before he can hear the guy’s reply, practically running to the back of the bus and into the safety net of his obnoxious, loud new group of friends.

 

He slumps down in the seat Louise has saved for him and buries his face in his bag.

 

“Dan?” Louise asks, noticing his shame spiral. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Oh, nothing.” Dan says, sighing into his backpack. “Just the usual. Humiliating myself in front of people way cooler than me once again.”

 

Louise nods in understanding and slips her arm around his shoulders. It’s comforting, and Dan leans into her, inhaling her lovely flowery perfume.

 

Perhaps he should walk to school from now on. 

 

* * *

 

 

Well, that couldn’t have gone any worse.

 

After all of that time spent working up the courage to talk to the guy he’s obsessing over, Phil went and fucked it all up. He wishes he’d stayed quiet, honestly.

 

On top of making two-doors-down guy look like he wanted to run a mile – who the hell tells someone they _like_ being kept awake by their drumming? – he forgot to get the one piece of information he really wanted.

 

He didn’t ask the guy for his damn name.

 

He walks into the Science lab and slumps down in his seat on one of the middle benches. He leans forwards on the desk, burying his face in his arms.

 

“Hey, cutie.” Louise says as she plops down beside him. Phil just mumbles something into his elbow in response. “Oh, not you too. Why is everyone in such a bad mood today?”

 

Phil lifts his head up in an effort to smile at her. “Sorry. Rough morning.”

 

“Aw, cutie. Tell me all about it.” She says, rooting around in her pink bag for something.

 

Louise has been his lab partner since the start of term, and Phil has found – to his surprise more than anyone’s – that she’s lovely.

 

He’d always assumed that because Louise is part of the cool crowd, alongside her reputation, that she’d be kind of rude and stuck up, but she isn’t at all. She’s a social butterfly, flitting between the groups and cliques as though she were an esteemed member of every single one.

 

She’s so sweet and positive and funny that it’s impossible not to like her. Phil even finds himself looking forward to his Science lessons, now that Louise sits beside him.

 

He hesitates though, before divulging his problem. He’s seen her and the new guy together, and they seem like firm friends. Louise is lovely, bless her, but she’s a bit of a blab. If he tells her his problem, he doesn’t entirely trust her not to go running to two-doors-down guy and tell him everything about the weird guy with the 2009 emo fringe that’s madly in love with him.

 

“I… just embarrassed myself in front of someone I like.” Phil says, deciding that’s enough information for now.

 

“Already?” Louise asks, giggling. “Christ, Phil it’s only nine in the morning.”

 

Phil sighs, looking skyward. “I have a particular talent for these things.”

 

Louise finds what it is she’s looking for in her bag and pulls it out. She hands it to him, and Phil takes it from her, touched. It’s a packet of strawberry laces.

 

“Take these. Once an hour, doctor's orders.” She says kindly. “They might help you forget. Or at least they might remind you that good things come out of bad situations.”

 

Louise gives Phil a knowing look, and Phil almost wants to cry. This is so cute. He leans over and gives her a hug in gratitude.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.” She tosses her long blonde curls over her shoulder and pulls out her textbook. “You’re lucky I’m so generous, that’s my last packet of sweets. I gave the other pack to another miserable sod on the bus this morning.”

 

She rolls her eyes as she remembers, and Phil stares at her. She can't mean...

 

“Who?” Phil asks tentatively.

 

“Dan Howell? The new guy.” Louise says, smiling fondly. “He’s such a sweetheart, but he's so sensitive. He was upset this morning because he and I are both socially inept idiots and apparently he-”

 

“Dan?” Phil interrupts, heart thrumming. He doesn’t hear a word of what Louise is saying past that name. “His name is Dan?”

 

She raises her eyebrow at him. “Ye-es.” She narrows her eyes at him, then folds her hands under her chin, smirking. “Why so interested, Philip?”

 

Phil blushes, turning away from her knowing gaze. “No reason. I mean, I’m not. Interested.” He glances back at her; she looks far from convinced. “I just didn’t know his name. He lives two doors down from me. We wait at the same bus stop and I’ve never asked him. Thanks for telling me.”

 

“You know, Phil-” Louise starts to say, and at that moment Mr James strolls into the lab, clutching an armful of Bunsen burners.

 

“Sorry I’m late, everyone.” He announces, dropping the Bunsen burners onto his desk with a loud clatter. “Right, stop talking, let’s get on with it. Open up your textbooks to page eleven.”

 

Around ten minutes later, Phil notices a scrap of paper being slid his way. He glances down at it, confused.

 

_Having a party this Wednesday. Come?_

Phil chews his lip, deliberating. He writes underneath.

 

_It’s a school night!_

 

He can feel Louise rolling her eyes; it’s not his fault. His parents will not be happy about Phil leaving the house to drink cider and alcopop unsupervised the night before school. He won't bother asking where her dad will be on the night of the party. Louise doesn't have a mum, and her dad is the late-night news presenter for the whole of North West England.

 

He's attractive and dazzling to behold, even on-screen. Everyone in this tiny town knows Donald Pentland from North West News, he's a local celebrity, and Louise gets a lot of credit for being his daughter. Most people at this school are well aware of Louise's good fortune, just like they know that she has a big, beautiful house which her dad is rarely in, and no siblings. 

 

Basically, Louise is the go-to girl for parties. Phil's been to a few; they're probably the most exciting thing that happens in this dead-end town. Everyone attends, because Louise knows everyone, and they can get pretty wild. People often talk about them for weeks after. 

 

_So sneak out! This is what your teens are for._

 

Phil hesitates, chewing his lip. Louise notices, and smirks at him, pulling the paper back to scribble something else

 

_Dan will be there…_

 

Phil feels himself blushing. Is he truly this transparent? Louise touches his arm reassuringly, and winks. 

 

"Don't worry, cutie." She whispers to him. "I won't say a word."

 

He turns to her, ridiculously grateful. “Thanks.” He whispers back.

 

 _So?  _ Louise writes, underlining it for emphasis. 

 

 _What time does it start?_ Phil scrawls back.

 

Louise grins at him, and Phil can't help returning her smile.

 

* * *

 

 

Dan has a love-hate relationship with parties. On one hand, he hates large social gatherings where he’s forced to mingle with people he doesn’t know and doesn’t like. On the other hand, he loves alcohol and being silly with his friends.

 

The problem with parties is that they're hit and miss. He'd be up for them all the time if he knew for sure that he'd have a good time. 

 

Still, even if this party turns out to be terrible, it's probably better that being stuck at home all by himself, yearning for London and feeling himself fall into an abyss of existentialism and self-deprecation. 

 

Louise invites Dan over early to ‘help set up’, but by the time he arrives at her house, there is quite literally nothing he could do to prepare her any more than she already is. There are whole tables of bitesize food on silver trays, thousands of those red solo cups that Dan’s seen in American music videos, big bowls of different coloured punches, and balloons tied everywhere, some even scattered about on the floor.

 

She’s cleared a large space in her enormous living room for dancing, and rigged fairy lights around the whole house, even in the tiny garden. Music blares from the carefully positioned speakers, each one covered in waterproof plastic sheeting so that nobody electrocutes themselves.

 

She’s honestly thought of everything. She’s even hand drawn neat little signs pointing to the bathrooms. She's clearly a practiced hostess, Dan realises, very impressed with all that she's done. The few times he's ever thrown parties, his planning consisted of a Tesco run a couple of hours before to pick up crisps, pizzas and mixers. 

 

His parents sometimes bought him alcopop if he asked and promised to be responsible. Usually they were more concerned that he'd recycle the bottles than get drunk off a crate of Bacardi Breezers. 

 

Dan doesn't know how Louise got ahold of alcohol, but he guesses it's to do with her dad. He's only met the famous Donald Pentland once, but he saw enough of his and Louise's interaction to understand that she's a true daddy's girl. With a little pleading and pouting on Louise's part, Mr Pentland would probably get her a few kegs if she really wanted them.

 

She seems to have stuck to the basics, though: vodka and white rum for the punch, and some beers for anyone else. 

 

“Here we are, my love.” Louise says brightly as she walks over to him, handing Dan a red cup filled with punch. “Might as well get the party started.”

 

She clinks her own cup against his, winking, and then sits down on the sofa beside him. "Happy Birthday to me!" 

 

“Happy Birthday. You look amazing, Lou.” Dan tells her honestly. 

 

If she adds some sparkle to her school uniform, it’s nothing compared to now. Her silver sequinned top twinkles as it catches the light of the fairylights, and her big, poofy pink skirt splays itself over the sofa, princess-like. Her eyelashes are long and fake, but they accentuate her bambi-blue eyes. When she blinks, the gems she’s carefully glued to her sparkly eyelids glisten and reflect patterns onto the walls.

 

She grins at him. “Thank you, cherub. You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.”

 

Dan glances down at his own outfit. He’d just grabbed the most decent, clean thing he could find at home, run the straighteners over his hair and headed straight here. He had no desire to spend too long in his empty house, deliberating over his choice of clothes. 

 

Louise reaches out to pinch the fabric of Dan's dark grey jumper between her fingers. It's made of very thin material, artfully distressed in places. Pretentious as hell, he knows, but he loves it anyway. His wrists are full of bracelets, as always, and though Louise painted his nails black a few days ago, it’s chipping off.

 

His skinny jeans are the same ones he wears to school, so there’s not much change there.

 

“Thanks.” He says to Louise, though he doesn’t really believe her.

 

“So, Daniel,” Louise says, trying to sound nonchalant. Dan narrows his eyes, knowing her tone. She’s got something she wants to ask him. “You’ve been in Rawtenstall a while now. Anyone… caught your eye?”

 

Dan snorts at her question. She's such a gossip; he loves it. “I haven't really thought about it to be honest.”

 

It’s true, Dan thinks, staring down into his punch. Apart from the other morning, when he’d had that awkward conversation with his neighbour and realised how good-looking he is up close, he hasn’t thought of anyone like that.

 

Sometimes he wonders if all Cat’s arm-touching and smiling when he talks to her is something more than just playful banter, but he’s never pursued it. He doesn’t feel like he’s in the right frame of mind for all of that right now.

 

Cat is lovely, but he hasn’t felt a strong urge to kiss her or anything like that.

 

The other morning with that blue-eyed boy was the first time he’s found someone attractive in weeks, he realises.

 

“Uh huh.” Louise says, sipping her drink. “And if someone _were_ to catch your eye… would that person be male or female?”

 

Dan’s face heats at her question. “Um, either.” Louise nods thoughtfully, and Dan turns to her frowning. “Hey, don’t get any ideas, okay? I’m not looking for a matchmaker.”

 

She raises a hand in surrender, grinning. “Okay! I just thought you might like to know..."

 

She trails off tantalisingly, smiling at him. Dan rolls his eyes, surrendering at once.

 

“Know what?”

 

"Well, the other day I was speaking with someone - who shall remain nameless - and it transpired that they think... highly of you." Louise tells him with a gleeful relish. 

 

Dan blinks at her, bewildered. "Really?"

 

Dan has a secret admirer? That's absurd. That sort of thing happens to pretty, popular people. Not lame, lanky nerds who can't hold a conversation without embarrassing themselves.

 

Louise laughs. "Yes Dan, really. Is it that surprising?"

 

He shrugs, blushing faintly. "I don't know. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of fading into the background at school."

 

She laughs even more at that, the gems on her eyelids winking at him as she shuts them. "Oh, sweetie, you are so clueless. Half the girls in school are talking about what prom dress they'd pick out if you asked them. And that's not even addressing the boys who've staked their claim."

 

Dan scoffs at her, wondering where on earth she heard something so ridiculous, and then the doorbell rings.  

 

“Eek!” She squeals, forgetting their conversation. “First guests!”

 

Dan stares after her, wondering who this mystery person is that could have told Louise they were crushing on him. Louise strolls back in with Zoe, Alfie and Cat, and he stands up to greet them all. 

 

Oh, he realises as he hugs each of them in turn, and the flicker of excitement inside him extinguishes. Of course, Louise is talking about Cat. Dan had been right, and she does have a crush.

 

Oh well, Dan thinks as Cat's hug goes on a touch too long. Just because he doesn't feel the same, it's nice to be admired. He smiles at Cat, but vows not to mislead her from now on. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Dan Howell.” PJ says, rolling the name around on his tongue.

 

Phil nods impatiently, as if he hasn’t spent the last two days doing something similar.

 

“Sounds like a stripper name.” Chris comments, downing the rest of his punch. “Ladies, Dan can make you _Howell_.”

 

PJ laughs, the sound of it almost lost in the blaring pop music. They’ve been at Louise’s party for about an hour now, and Phil’s starting to loosen up, finally. The punch is helping, not that he has any idea what’s in it. All he knows is that it's bright red and tastes like toffee apples. 

 

Louise invited PJ and Chris too, thankfully, because she’s a sweetheart. Not that Phil has even seen Louise yet. He barely knows anyone here, in fact. He’d normally hate that, but right now all he cares about is seeing Dan.

 

Since the disastrous attempt Phil made to speak to Dan at the bus stop earlier this week, they've barely talked. They greet each other awkwardly every morning, but mostly Dan retreats back into his headphones, probably to avoid further excruciating conversation with the weird desperate guy beside him.

 

Phil is determined to make amends at this party. Or, at the very least, to act as cool and aloof as possible whilst standing in Dan's general vicinity. Not that PJ and Chris are helping him in that regard. 

 

“So he’s definitely here, yeah?” PJ asks Phil, who nods distractedly, searching the crowds. “Are you gonna talk to him?”

 

Phil snorts. “Because that went so well last time.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Chris says, slapping Phil on the back, “ignoring him forever is the best way forward.”

 

Phil shrugs him off, annoyed. “I’m not gonna ignore him, I’m just gonna…”

 

PJ and Chris both stare at him, waiting for the sentence to end. But Phil has already forgotten them both, because right at that moment, as though summoned, Dan enters the room, linked arms with Louise. They walk to the sofa where Zoe and Cat are currently lounging, Zoe perched on Alfie’s knee.

 

Phil watches them with a frustrated yearning, and takes another gulp of his drink.

 

“You’re just gonna stare longingly, gotcha.” PJ finishes for Phil, and Chris chuckles.

 

“So that’s him.” Chris says in a breath of wonder, eyes roving over Dan’s tall, slender frame. Chris shudders suddenly, and Phil looks at him. “It’s getting me all a-quiver just thinking about what those hands can do.”

 

PJ and Phil stare at Chris in disbelief.

 

“Um, what?” Phil asks.

 

“I meant with the drums! Jeez, relax Phil. I’m not moving in on your man.” He winds an arm around PJ’s waist. “I’ve got my own sliver of tall, dark and handsome.”

 

“Get. Off.” PJ growls, glaring at Chris as he plucks the arm from his waist.

 

Immediately, Chris moves closer, cuddling up to the struggling PJ and grinning manically. 

 

Phil laughs loudly at the familiar scene, and Louise glances over. She catches Phil’s eye, her face lighting up. Phil stops laughing abruptly.

 

Oh no.

 

“Phil!” She cries, and Phil swallows, sensing what's coming.

 

Before he knows it, she’s grabbing Dan by the elbow and dragging him over towards where he, Chris and PJ stand, hovering near the food table, of course.

 

And then Dan is right in front of him, just like he was a couple of mornings ago, a look of surprise in his expression, and a slightly glazed look in his eyes – presumably from the punch he’s holding.

 

He looks good outside of his school uniform. That's possibly the biggest understatement of the century. Phil feels his mouth going dry as he drinks in the sight of Dan, his fingers squeezing the red cup in his hand so that a little punch dribbles over his knuckles. Dan has chosen to wear a thin cotton jumper over tight black skinny jeans and converse. The jumper is grey and colourless, heck it’s even riddled with rips and holes, but it hangs off his slight frame just right. The neck of it is wide and stretched, exposing his sharp, tanned collarbones.

 

Phil's a little tipsy, so his brain helpfully conjures up the fantasy scenario of being able to graze his teeth over them. He shakes the image out of his mind as best he can, his face heating. 

 

He glances at Louise for help; there's no way he is going to be coherent if he attempts to speak right now. 

 

“Dan, this is Phil.” She supplies helpfully, seeming to sense the problem. He feels a little like murdering her; she knows he has a thing for Dan. This is torturous. 

 

“Yeah, um,” Dan says, glancing at the floor. He seems unable to look Phil in the eye, either. “We- we met.”

 

Christ, Phil thinks, he must have come across as more of a weirdo than he remembers during that initial conversation. Dan looks on the verge of sprinting out of the door. He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, twisting and playing with the bracelets on his wrist. 

 

“Oh, that’s right,” Louise says, shaking her head as though she’d forgotten, “you guys are neighbours, aren’t you?”

 

Phil wants to roll his eyes at how obvious Louise is being, but he can't look away from the statuesque beauty in front of him, even if that beauty is giving out serious 'I don't want to be here' vibes. He takes a deep breath in, trying to gather himself, but the smell of Dan's cologne fills his senses – a tangy, sweet aroma, like molasses and lime. 

 

He almost whimpers as he exhales again. Luckily he's not that far gone. 

 

"Yeah, hey." Phil manages to choke out, and this time Dan glances up at him, chocolate eyes widening as they latch onto Phil's. 

 

All of a sudden, Louise starts waving to someone across the room, and she removes her hand from Dan’s arm. “One sec guys, Hazel just arrived. I’ll be back in a min!”

 

Then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd, her enormous pink tutu parting the people like Moses did the red sea.

 

Phil stares into Dan’s eyes, all words sticking in his throat as he grapples for something to say.

 

“I’m Chris.” Chris announces, stepping forwards from where he'd been silently observing, behind Phil. He grabs hold of Dan’s hand, shaking it vigorously. “Phil, PJ and I are in a band. So I hear that you’re a 'phenomenal' 2am drum solo artiste?”

 

PJ slaps his hand over Chris’ mouth, for which Phil is eternally grateful. “So sorry.” PJ says to Dan, who is fighting a smile. “He’s a drunken idiot with an unfiltered rectum where his mouth should be. I’ll remove him from your sight.”

 

There's a small struggle between them, but in a few moments Chris is being dragged across the room by a determined-looking PJ, over towards the door to the garden. Phil watches on, not knowing whether to be relieved or horrified. Is it worse to be alone with Dan - in which case there's a high probability he'll say something weird again, solidifying Dan's suspicions that Phil Lester is a freak with no redeeming qualities - or to have Chris and PJ here, who would undoubtedly make Phil look just as bad by acting the way they do whilst associating themselves with him?

 

It's really an impossible question, Phil thinks, and definitely not one he can resolve two cups of mystery punch into the party. 

 

Crap. Dan is staring at him expectantly. He needs to say something. 

 

“So-” Phil begins, despite having no idea where that sentence is headed.

 

Luckily Dan interrupts, smirking in a way that makes Phil want to drool. “So you’ve been spreading the word about me, I see.”

 

Phil blushes furiously, taking a gulp of his drink to try and calm his fluttering nerves. “Um, I just mentioned to Chris and Peej that I’d heard you…”

 

“I'm just kidding.” Dan says, chuckling a little. "If I had a wacky neighbour pounding his drums at 2am every night I'd whinge about it to my friends too." 

 

He’s got a beautiful smile, Phil thinks as he sees it appear, admiring the way the corners of Dan's rosy-pink mouth push dimples into his cheeks.

 

“You’ve stopped playing.” Phil blurts, and Dan’s smile falls a little, his eyebrows knitting together. Phil hurries to explain himself. “You’ve stopped playing so late, I mean.”

 

This time, Dan’s cheeks seem to colour a little; Phil marvels at the sight, wondering why.

 

“Um, yeah.” Dan says, looking uncomfortable. “I just… after you said that you could hear me, I didn’t wanna… keep you awake.”

 

Phil is astounded. He doesn't know what to say. He's listened to countless people complaining to Dan and his parents about the drumming. Every household on the street is irritated by Dan's playing. Every one of them are kept up by the noise, not just Phil. 

 

He'd always assumed that Dan didn't care. 

 

Why would it be different just because Dan realises it's Phil he's keeping awake? He wants to ask Dan this, of course, but he can't think of how to phrase it. 

 

As he stares at Dan, the cogs of his mind turning furiously as they try to understand him, he notices the dark circles under Dan's eyes. It occurs to him suddenly that the neighbours aren't the only ones being kept up by the drums. Dan himself is getting just as little sleep as everyone else. 

 

Why would he do that to himself by choice, Phil wonders. Again, there's no way to ask that question. He and Dan barely know each other, after all.

 

"Oh," Phil says instead, feeling lame, "well, thanks. But sleep is overrated, seriously. Play as late as you want."

 

Dan regards him with a curious expression, sipping his punch. "Even so, I’m sure the rest of the street has welcomed the… quiet.”

 

The way Dan says this last word is strange, Phil notices. He whispers it, as though he’s allergic.

 

“All I know is, our street was bloody boring until you moved in.” Phil finds himself saying, the punch loosening his tongue.

 

He should really quit while he's ahead in this conversation. It's actually going reasonably well. He's successfully told Dan to continue the drumming, and he's made him laugh. Time to tactfully back out before he says something stupid.

 

Dan looks up at Phil and smiles, very sweetly. It makes Phil's heart flutter. “D'you think?”

 

“Y-yeah.” Phil confirms, nodding.

 

He smiles back at Dan, and they lock eyes for a brief moment, then look away. Phil drinks more punch, his heart starting to pick up speed. 

 

"It is a pretty lifeless street, no offence." Dan says, grimacing. 

 

"Oh, none taken. It's the street of the dead." Phil agrees wholeheartedly.

 

"Apart from the heartthrob in a band that lives two doors up, of course." Dan says with a grin, and Phil's entire body liquifies itself. He has to work to remain in control of himself enough to not slip to the floor. Is Dan... _flirting_ with him? “So those were your band mates?”

 

Phil swallows another mouthful of punch, fighting with his own body to remain as cool and collected as possible. “Yeah. Yes. They were."

 

Dan nods, looking towards where Chris and PJ had disappeared off earlier. 

 

"Sorry about them." Phil adds, cringing at the memory of Chris boldly introducing himself a while ago. Sometimes Phil wonders why he associates with two such monumental twats.

 

Dan laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, they seem funny.” 

 

“Yes." Phil says dryly. "Hilarious." Dan laughs even more at Phil's sarcastic tone, and Phil can't help but join in. This conversation really is going surprisingly well, he realises, his hopes lifting.

 

He's managing this! He's chatting easily with Dan Howell, the boy next door. There has perhaps even, arguably, been some actual flirting. He beams at Dan, his confidence swelling; he knows it's partially the alcohol in his bloodstream but he feels like he could be bold right now. Why not just kick things up a notch?

 

Why not follow PJ's advice and 'pursue' Dan properly?  

 

"You should come jam with us sometime at PJ's. Give our neighbours' ears a rest.” Phil says jokily; all of a sudden, Dan looks very uncomfortable.

 

“Oh.” Dan says, eyes darting about the room, clearly searching for an escape route. “Y-yeah, maybe.” He dithers, and Phil wishes more than anything that he could turn back time. Just a few seconds, to before he said anything at all. “Um, you know, I'd better actually go find Louise.”

 

Phil nods, plastering on the most convincing look of understanding he can muster, even though he feels himself splintering apart. “Yeah, sure.”

 

“See you around, Phil.” Dan says, and then plunges into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you're non-English and don't know, Sixth Form is college, which is a two year optional bit of schooling after secondary school is finished. Generally, when you're sixteen, have completed GCSE's and left secondary school, you either find a job, or go to college/sixth form. You do this for two years, get 3-5 A Levels, and then (if you want) go to University. 
> 
> The difference between college and sixth form is that colleges are separate, stand-alone establishments, whereas sixth forms are attached to secondary schools. So if you enjoyed your secondary school experience (lol) and wanted to stay there even longer, you could attend the sixth form of your school and gain your A Levels there. 
> 
> Dan and Phil are both 17 in this fic.
> 
> I hope that clarifies things.


	2. Chapter 2

In Louise’s fridge, there is a bottle of rosé. It’s been opened, but it’s almost full. Dan deliberates for a good three seconds before he takes it, which he thinks is pretty impressive, considering how shit he’s feeling.

 

He drinks almost half of it in one go, wanting the sweet pink wine to wash away the memory of the conversation he just had with his hot neighbour guy, Phil.

 

It had actually begun quite well. Phil was being _nice_ to him. There were an awkward few moments at the start where the memory of their last conversation at the bus stop lingered in the air around them, but Dan had been tipsy enough to ignore that. He'd actually managed to dole out some banter, and even though his mouth ran away with him and he slipped a flirty line in about how 'dreamy' Phil is, everything was basically okay. 

 

And then Phil had invited him to 'jam' with his band. That's when Dan had realised that Phil being nice to him was really just him being polite. He didn't actually want to be standing there, alone with Dan, forced to make awkward small talk with him while he was trying to have fun at the party. 

 

Obviously Dan knows that Phil was only taking pity on him. Sure, he said he thinks Dan is a good drummer, but how can he possibly be telling the truth? The only time he hears Dan play is in the dead of night, when he's probably delirious from lack of sleep and would do or say anything to get Dan to stop.

 

Dan knows he's an okay drummer. But at the end of the day, he's self-taught. Definitely nothing special. He's able to play along to his favourite songs, and that's good enough for him. He has no desire to accept Phil's invitation to a pity jam-session. He knows how it would go. He'd play for them, Phil, Chris and PJ would rain down the compliments, only for Phil to pull him aside after and ask him politely if he'd consider stopping the late-night practices now that he's been assured he's good enough. 

 

Dan cringes, remembering Phil's words: _'Give our neighbours' ears a rest.'_

 

In other words, give _his_ ears a rest.

 

He knew Phil couldn't have meant it when he said he didn't mind Dan playing so late at night. He'd just been buttering Dan up in the hopes of ensuring the playing stopped once and for all. 

 

Dan takes another gulp of wine, feeling a tight knot of humiliation deep in his stomach. It’s not Phil’s fault, he knows, he’s only being nice about a situation he never asked to be in, but Dan can’t help feeling put out by it.

 

Wine helps, a little. 

 

All of this is made about two billion times worse by Phil's intimidatingly cool persona, especially outside of school. When Louise had 'introduced' them, Dan had been distracted, not really clocking on to who was in front of him until Louise actually spoke his name for the first time. Needless to say, the sight of Phil in a plaid shirt and skinny jeans, his black hair side-swept and glossy, his eyes smudged with a little honest-to-God eyeliner, had rendered him speechless for a good few seconds. 

 

Arguably, Dan's greatest weakness has always been sexy, emo-ish guys in bands. His celebrity crushes prove that. Pete Wentz, Matt Bellamy, Frank Iero... all of them have that signature look about them. The classic skinny, tight shirted, tousled hair and side fringe look. The look that Phil Lester has so casually decided to wear to this very fucking party. 

 

Dan groans internally, head thunking against the fridge. He gulps down some more delicious wine. 

 

When Dan had seen Phil joking about with his band mates, rolling his eyes at them in a fond sort of way as they'd tried to embarrass him, Dan had felt a stab of jealousy mixed with all of the yearning. Apart from everything else, Phil's tight bond with Chris and PJ is enviable to say the least. Dan has never had too much trouble making casual friends, but no one he's close to like that. Louise is the nearest thing Dan has ever had to a best friend, and she has Zoe wearing that crown already.

 

He’d give anything to have something like what Phil has. He'd give even more to have that type of closeness to Phil himself. 

 

Basically, the more Dan talks to Phil, the more attractive he seems, which isn't great considering Dan is annoying the shit out of him every night, to the point where the poor guy is actually taking pity on him.

 

“Oh, God.” Dan groans to himself, head thunking against the fridge behind him again.

 

“Everything okay, sugar?”

 

Dan glances at the bottle in his hands guiltily at the sound of Louise’s voice. She follows his gaze to the rosé, one eyebrow cocked, but thankfully she doesn’t mention it.

 

“Not really.” Dan mumbles, and Louise frowns.

 

“Didn’t you like him?” Louise asks, and Dan blinks at her.

 

“Who?”

 

“Phil, of course. Who else?”

 

“Oh.” Dan says, blushing. “No, he’s… great. Really great.”

 

Louise smiles happily. “He is, isn’t he? His band is really good too. They played at the talent show last year.”

 

Dan laughs humourlessly. Of course. Phil Lester can't just be cool, popular and gorgeous. He has to be incredibly talented as well.

 

“Of course they did." Dan says, nodding. "And won, I’m guessing?”

 

Louise frowns again. “How did you know?”

 

Dan sighs, taking a swig of wine. “It’s just my luck.”

 

* * *

 

 

Charlie approaches him almost the minute Dan makes his exit, so Phil doesn’t have much time to dwell on what a disastrous end that surprisingly nice conversation had.

 

Before he can say a word, Charlie is waving a shot glass before his face, a bottle of tequila clutched tightly in his other hand. Phil wonders absently where on earth he got that from; he doesn't remember seeing it on the drinks table. 

 

“It’s tequila time, Phil!” Charlie sings loudly, grinning at him almost manically.

 

Phil gives him a weak smile in return, his heart screaming at him to run after Dan, to find out what just went so spectacularly wrong, even if it’s fairly clear from Dan's lame excuse that he wants to be as far from Phil as possible right now. He takes the shot glass Charlie hands him without argument, because he knows he’d never win it anyway.

 

Charlie is a determined boy.

 

Phil knows Charlie from their Music class, and initially they’d bonded over their similar tastes in bands. He’d seemed cool at first, and Phil had liked him a lot, but it became apparent very quickly that Charlie wasn’t only interested in friendship. Unfortunately, Phil does not reciprocate his feelings. 

 

It’s not that he’s not nice to Phil, and it’s not even that Charlie isn’t attractive – he’s just very intense. He’s bold and flirtatious, prone to making inappropriate comments and re-routing any conversation to the topic of sex.

 

Honestly, Phil finds it kind of exhausting being around him. Not that it seems to deter Charlie one bit. He's always popping up somehow, selling hand-made t-shirts for the band to the kids at school, or offering to make them a music video, or knocking on Phil's door to bring him a new guitar pick or a spare aux cable or snacks 'to fuel his songwriting'.

 

Charlie has named himself as the Tiny Planet Explorers' unofficial 'roadie'. He comes with them to gigs, and if he's not included in the car pool, he'll make his own way there. His excuse is that he's there to 'help set up', but seeing as he has neither the knowledge nor the motivation to do anything besides stand there making lewd comments or suggestions as Phil, Chris and PJ do all the work, this isn't the most accurate description. Chris and PJ generally can't stand him for this reason, which is why PJ never invites Charlie to band practice.

 

Phil isn't complaining. Having Charlie lingering around the band all the time becomes taxing. He's heard rumours recently that Charlie has taken up drumming lessons. He suspects this is because Charlie's well aware of the lack of drummer in the Tiny Planet Explorers. Phil is extremely glad that it's going to take a considerably long time before Charlie will be in any way skilled enough to audition for this role.  

  

“Your ass looks downright sumptuous in those jeans, Philly." Charlie says, grinning as he fills each of them a shot. "Ready to get fucked?” Charlie asks, and Phil blinks, scandalised.

 

"What?" He squeaks, and Charlie laughs at him.

 

" _Relax_ , hot stuff." Charlie says loudly. "The only person fucking anyone around here is my good friend Sierra here." Charlie explains, holding up the bottle of Sierra Silver tequila, and waving it in front of Phil's face. Then he winks, his voice dropping low. "Until later anyway."  

 

Phil blushes and frowns, shifting uncomfortably. "Are we doing the shot or what?"

 

"Ooh, easy tiger." Charlie laughs, and clinks his shot against Phil's. “One, two, three, go!”

 

Phil downs it, wincing at the burn, but ignoring it in the hopes that now Charlie will leave him alone. Surprisingly, he immediately feels a little calmer. The situation with Dan doesn't even seem that horrendous anymore.  

 

Charlie is grinning at him again, and Phil notices that he's unscrewing the lid of the tequila once more.

 

"Round two!" Charlie sings gleefully. He leans in as he fills up Phil's their glasses again, his mouth close to Phil's ear. "Just so you know, round three is body shots."

 

Phil leans away sharply to the sound of Charlie's shrill laughter, and slams back his tequila, attempting to wipe his brain of the scarring mental images conjured up by Charlie's words. 

 

"Ooh, Philly! Someone's eager to get the party started." Charlie says, downing his own shot. Phil rolls his eyes. "Oh relax, I'm only kidding about the body shots. Sort of." Charlie winks, and Phil tries to think of an excuse to leave. "Come on babe, have another shot and you can tell me all about that cute guy I just saw you talking to."

 

Phil stares at Charlie, not trusting him for a moment. He lets the shorter boy refill his glass, but watches him warily. Phil is well aware of the crush Charlie harbours for him, and what's more, Charlie knows that Phil knows. So what's his angle here? He's certainly not asking to hear about Dan because he wants to be a good wingman. 

 

The trouble is, Phil thinks as he downs the next shot Charlie pushes at him, all of this tequila is fuzzing his brain a little. He can't think it through. Sure, Charlie seems like he's got an ulterior motive, but maybe Phil's wrong. Maybe he really is just being a good friend. 

 

What's more, PJ and Chris are nowhere to be seen, and Phil's got nobody else to talk to about this. It might help to vent his feelings. 

 

"Well," Phil says, his voice drawling a little for some reason; Charlie's mouth stretches into a slow smile, "his name is Dan, and he lives two doors down from me..."

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, Dan finds himself sat in a circle of people, an empty cider bottle in the centre, spinning wildly. Louise is sat next to him, her pink skirt half spread over his crossed legs. She seems to be in control of the game, as she's the one doing the spinning. 

 

Dan laughs along with the others happily, only vaguely aware of his surroundings, but perfectly content to be here in the midst of the party, playing a silly teenage game and distracting himself from everything else. He doesn’t remember consenting to the game exactly, but that doesn't matter. He's consenting now. Maybe he needs to kiss someone else. It's been a while, after all. It might stop him from obsessing over his hot neighbour for two minutes.

 

“Zoe and…” Louise says dramatically as the bottle lands on her giggling best friend. She spins the bottle again. “Alfie!”

 

Everyone cheers and wolf-whistles uproariously. Zoe blushes, hiding her face in her hands as a grinning Alfie begins high-fiving several people around him.

 

Zoe and Alfie are one of those destined-to-be couples; everybody knows that. Dan's only been here a short time, but he's as aware as the rest of the school that no matter how much either of them might protest or evade the question, they're sure to end up together. They will probably have an incredible, movie-style, romantic realisation that they belong together. It'll probably be at prom or something, as Zoe walks down the stairs in a floor-length dress and knocks the wind out of Alfie's lungs. Dan glares at them a little as they inch towards one another across the circle, everyone cheering them on as though they're watching their OTP kiss at last.

 

Dan can't help the familiar cloak of jealousy wrapping itself around him. He's never had anything anywhere near that romantic happen to him. He never will either, he's sure. He drinks his wine, unable to look away as Alfie takes Zoe's face in his hands, both of them staring into one another's eyes. At this point it's clear that, for Zoe and Alfie, the room is empty. There is no cheering crowd for them, there's no party, no game, only each other, and an imminent, perfect kiss.  

 

They press their lips together sweetly, chastely; as Zoe backs away, Alfie keeps his hands on her face, holding her there for a few seconds more.

 

A chorus of ‘awws’ echo around the circle. Dan joins in, but his heart aches horribly. He’s never, in his seventeen years of life, had a kiss like that. He’s starting to think he never will if he keeps falling for people way, way out of his league.

 

Zoe and Alfie return to their places, their cheeks pink and their eyes flicking towards each other every few seconds. Louise wraps her arms around Zoe, whispering and giggling into her ear. 

 

"Oh my God, chummy, that was the cutest thing I've _ever_ seen." Louise says in a hushed voice; Zoe rolls her eyes, but looks pleased. 

 

Dan smiles at them both as best he can manage, his lips straining with the effort. After a while, he lifts his bottle to his mouth; he's still too sober to deal with this.

 

* * *

 

 

Phil can’t honestly remember how many shots he’s downed, but he knows it’s a lot. He's also not sure where Charlie is; he was here seemingly moments ago, urging him to drink shot after shot, and now he's noticeably absent. Phil doesn't remember him saying he was leaving. Phil's not sure he particularly minds though, considering that the room is spinning madly, the floor is wobbling under his feet, and the contents of his stomach, which is mainly crisps, keeps threatening to make a reappearance.

 

If that happens, he'd rather not have an audience. And if he has to have an audience, he'd really prefer for it not to be Charlie. 

 

Deciding he needs to get to a bathroom, Phil forces his way through a nearby group of people, stumbling a lot, until he finds himself at the doors leading out to the garden. Hand over his mouth, just in case, Phil lurches out into the fairylit wonderland, fifty percent sure he’s about to soil it with his vomit.

 

Instead, he’s confronted with the sight of PJ and Chris, sat very close together on an intricately carved wooden bench. Chris’ legs are slung over PJ’s lap, and he’s tracing PJ’s jaw with his finger.

 

Phil blinks at the scene for a moment, watching and waiting for PJ's inevitable shove off, for him to struggle free of Chris and send him sliding butt-first onto the grass. Instead, PJ grins fondly at him, letting him do as he pleases. Phil can see from the heaviness of his friend's eyelids, and the sloppy smile he wears, that PJ is tipsy, perhaps even drunk.

 

That explains why he's being more lenient, Phil supposes, though he's never seen PJ allow Chris to get away with this much. Chris is obviously drunk off his ass too, which means he'll be being twice as flirty, and three times more inappropriate. With a fascinated sort of horror, Phil watches as Chris drunkenly leans backwards, his back arching, his arms stretched wide, pointing at the stars scattered in the night sky above them. PJ laughs at him, and winds an arm around Chris' waist, catching hold of him before he slips backwards onto the ground. 

 

Chris turns back towards PJ, smiling happily, and their eyes remain locked for a long moment. That's when Phil decides to leave them to it. Neither of them have even noticed him stumbling out here, they're too busy doing whatever it is they're doing. Phil turns from them, strongly wanting to forget whatever he just witnessed.

 

He retreats back into the house, all thoughts of Chris and PJ evaporating pretty much as soon as he's inside again. Almost the second he's through the door, he stumbles over someone sat on the floor, which does nothing to help the roiling waves of sickness in his belly.

 

He apologises profusely to the person he tripped over, and then realises that this person is not alone. There are loads of them, all sat in a circle, looking up at Phil with amused, tipsy expressions.

 

“Phil!” Louise cries, and Phil turns towards her voice, blearily. She’s one of the circle people, sat cross legged on the floor next to...

 

Oh shit, Phil thinks, his heart sinking. Louise is sat next to Dan, of course.

 

Phil wants to flee; he feels the acidic burn of near-sickness clawing at his throat. He needs to be away from Dan right now, lest he embarrass himself far more than he already has. Dan is staring at him with a doe-like expression, his cheeks lightly brushed pink, matching the near-empty bottle of rosé he's clutching in one hand. 

 

Phil stares back, but only because he's unable to look away from the beautiful face of the sweet, mysterious drummer boy his stupid reckless heart has fallen for. God, he's drunk, Phil thinks, eyes wandering unashamedly over Dan's gorgeous features. 

 

“Phil," Louise says again, and suddenly he remembers everyone else in the circle, all staring at him as he blatantly eyefucks his hot neighbour. Crap. "Come play with us!” Louise demands, hopping to her feet in one graceful motion, her pink tutu bouncing in mid air as she reaches out to grab Phil's hand and drag him to sit beside her. The other side to Dan, of course. 

 

Phil hasn’t the strength to argue with Louise, he’s too busy focusing on not puking his guts up over her lovely, expensive-looking cream carpet.

 

“For those of you who don't know," Louise says in an authoritative yet bubbly voice, "this is Phil, and he's a rockstar. He's in a _band_."

 

She says this last word like it's a coveted prize.  As if boys haven't been forming shitty bands together for years regardless of their level of talent. Phil blushes anyway, because he's drunk as hell, and several of the girls around the circle giggle.

 

"Do I get a kiss from him if I knew that already?" A familiar, flirtatious voice pipes up. 

 

Phil looks up in surprise. It's Charlie. He's sitting in the circle almost directly opposite Phil, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Looking as if he hasn't been almost force-feeding Phil tequila shots all night and getting him so drunk he can barely see straight before fucking off and leaving him. Phil glares at him as best he can, though it probably looks more like a queasy squint. 

 

Oh shit, he thinks, remembering all of the things he'd happily divulged to Charlie earlier, about Dan. 

 

Phil's heart speeds up, and the bile makes another quick journey up his throat. He glances over at Dan, then back at Charlie, worrying. Charlie only smiles sweetly, sipping his drink.

 

"Um, no? Obviously not." Louise replies to Charlie's question, sounding a little irritated, which is unusual for her to say the least. "Kisses only occur between those that the bottle chooses. Now, let’s move on.” Louise says brightly, leaning into the middle of the circle and twirling a cider bottle around.

 

Oh no, Phil thinks, stomach lurching again. Could this situation get any more horrendous? They're playing _spin the bottle_. It hadn't clicked until now. His stomach flips and churns; he can feel his forehead beading with moisture, his palms growing clammy. He bets he's as white as a sheet. Why, oh why, must he be nearby to Dan right now, of all times? 

 

The bottle spins. Oh no, oh no, thinks Phil. 

 

It lands on Dan.

 

Oh no.

 

Dan stares at it in confusion for a moment, then plasters on a strained looking smile and takes a drink from the wine bottle in his hands. Possibly the most surprising thing about this whole evening is Dan's choice of beverage. _Rosé?_   He never would have guessed. 

 

Louise claps her hands delightedly, reaching over to squeeze Dan's cheek between her thumb and forefinger. He laughs, batting her away, and she spins the bottle again.

 

_Oh no._

 

It starts to slow down, and Phil feels his blood running cold, sensing exactly what’s about to happen.

 

It can't be, he thinks, watching the bottle's rotations get fewer, then stop altogether. 

 

He stares, disbelievingly. His stomach lurches with a sudden violence he is entirely unprepared for.

 

The bottle is pointed straight at him.  _No._

 

“Dan and Phil!” Louise cries, her voice positively  _gleeful._

 

* * *

 

 

Dan stares at the bottle's decision in fear. His heart pounds incessantly, so loudly that he's certain the whole room can hear it. 

 

After a long, drawn out pause, Dan risks a glance over at Phil, unable to believe this is happening. He doesn't dare let himself believe that he might actually get to  _kiss_ Phil right now. The thought is too enormous, too entirely inconceivable. Dan never gets what he wants. 

 

Phil is staring at the bottle with an indeterminable look on his face. He's grown very pale, perhaps from the nerves, and hey, Dan can relate. People around Dan are talking animatedly, the circle alive with birdlike chatter. He doesn't know what they're saying, and he doesn't care. All he cares about is the boy that bottle is pointed at, and his reaction.

 

_"Does he like boys or girls?"_

 

_"Both, I hear."_

 

_"This is the first time we'll get to see Dan actually lock lips with someone!"_

 

_"It's about time!"_

 

Finally, after a seemingly endless stretch of time, Phil looks up at Dan. The horror in his face is unmistakeable, and suddenly Dan's hopes come hurtling back down, crashing around him in a fiery mess of stupidity and humiliation. Dan actually flinches, cringing away from that look of disgust that Phil wears. 

 

"I..." Phil stutters, swallowing heavily. Then he claps a hand over his mouth, his shoulders hunching, and he's on his feet. "I'm sorry." Phil says, muffled by his hand, and before anyone can respond, Phil is hurtling towards Louise's stairs, sprinting up them as if his life depended on it. 

 

A second or two passes, and the upstairs bathroom door slams.

 

There is silence around the circle, and Dan begs for Louise's cream shagpile to swallow him up whole. 

 

"Well!" Exclaims that scene-y, vaguely irritating boy that Louise seems to dislike. Dan thinks his name is Charlie. "A spin the bottle rejection, some good old fashioned puking... now this is turning into a party!" 

 

Without a word, Dan gets to his feet and leaves the circle, ignoring Louise's concerned voice calling after him. 

  

* * *

 

It takes about twenty minutes before the vomiting subsides. There's a lot of hammering on the door during this time, but Phil ignores it, too focused on ridding his stomach of the alcohol that had been poisoning him to care about other people's peeing needs. 

 

Once it's over though, the realisation of what just occurred crashes down on him, hard. He leans his forehead against the cool rim of the toilet bowl he's just puked into, groaning loudly. For good measure, he thunks his head against it. 

 

"You." _Thunk_. "Fucking." _Thunk_. "Twat." _Thunk_. 

 

He sits there in a huddle of pure shame and embarrassment for another minute, then sighs, deciding he will have to leave the bathroom at some point, as much as he'd love to live here from now on. 

 

He flushes the toilet a few times, then gets to his feet shakily. He turns to the sink, and winces at the sight of his reflection in the mirror. His fringe is sticking to his damp forehead, there's sick on his chin, and his face is so pale it's almost translucent. 

 

He looks disgusting. He needs to go home before anybody sees him. Before  _Dan_ sees him. Not that Dan will ever, ever want to associate with him again now.

 

Why does this happen to him? Phil wonders as he runs the tap. He waits for the water to get to a lukewarm, then fills his cupped hands with it, splashing it over his face. Why is it that the planets aligned so that at the very moment Phil received one, precious, once in a lifetime opportunity to actually press his own lips to those of the boy he's fallen madly in love with, he not only can't, but actually  _pukes_ in front of him? 

 

Well, not literally, but there must be very little doubt in Dan's mind that that is exactly what Phil ran off to do.

 

So now, Dan has one of two opinions of Phil Lester. One, he thinks of Phil as a total freak that, sure, he might once have kissed as part of a game, but after watching him run off to throw up in Louise's toilet, never wants to speak to again. Or two, he thinks Phil is a reclusive, arrogant asshole that took one look at Dan, realised he had to kiss him, and promptly chucked his guts up. 

 

Honestly, Phil isn't sure which one he'd rather Dan think were true. 

 

He stares at his - marginally improved - reflection in the mirror in sorrow. 

 

"You were this close." He tells the reflection. "You were this close to kissing him.  _Kissing him_ , Phil. And you fucked it up." 

 

He sighs, looking away, then heads for the bathroom door, feeling glum. Okay, he thinks, hometime. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"He's just kind of _like that_ , y'know? A bit full of himself, I guess you could say." Charlie says, sipping something out of a red cup. Dan nods distractedly at him, wishing Charlie would go away and let him wallow in misery alone. "It comes of being in the band, I think. Lots of people go all gooey over him because of that. Phil's an alright guy, but I do think he lets it go to his head a little. I mean, the way he ran off on you like that? That was rude as fuck. I mean, rejecting someone in a damn kid's party game is bad enough, but to make a big show of  _throwing up_ at the idea of-"

 

"Could we... not talk about Phil anymore, please?" Dan interrupts, his voice coming out a little more shrill than he intends it to. 

 

Charlie lifts his hands in apology. "Shit, I stuck my foot in it, didn't I?"

 

Dan sighs, shifting his weight to the other foot. "It's fine. I just don't wanna think about it yet." 

 

"Sorry, Dan." Charlie says, his voice far softer and kinder than Dan has heard it yet. "He doesn't know what he's missing, okay?"

 

Dan isn't sure if the next few moments can be explained by the liquor in his bloodstream, or if it's a side effect of being publicly humiliated by the guy he's crushing on. Maybe it's the fact that Charlie's looking so sweet and sincere, and that he's actually kind of cute in a try-hard sort of way. It could even be because Charlie is saying words that Dan has wanted directed at him for such a long time, or because they're standing kind of close together, in a secluded little alcove near the front door with no one around, where Dan had run to after leaving the game, and where Charlie had subsequently discovered him. 

 

All he knows is that he's tipsy and wounded and vulnerable. He feels lonely and unwanted. So one minute Charlie is telling Dan not to think of Phil, and that he deserves better, and the next Charlie is kissing him, pushed up against the wall. And Dan is letting him. As Dan's lips roam over Charlie's, he imagines that it's Phil pinning him here, and wonders whether - if Dan were somebody Phil actually wanted - Phil would kiss him as enthusiastically as this. 

 

It seems like just seconds later that a soft but sharp intake of breath behind them knocks the sense back into Dan, and he pushes Charlie away with a start. 

 

He stares, red-faced, expecting to see a cross-looking Louise, or any one of the countless other people at this party who don't particularly warm to Charlie. Instead, Phil stands there, a little more colour in his face than before, looking totally perplexed at what he's just seen. 

 

"Ph-Phil!" Dan stammers out lamely, his mouth falling open. 

 

Phil stares at him for a long moment; Dan tries to decipher the look in his eyes. If he didn't know better, he'd say that Phil actually looks _hurt_. 

 

Dan's mind whirls in confusion, and he desperately grapples for something to say, but comes up with nothing. Phil's eyes slide across then, over to Charlie, just to the right of Dan. 

 

He doesn't know what expression Charlie wears because he can't seem to look away from the boy in front of him. He stares resolutely at Phil, watching the look on his face. The hurt isn't really there anymore. Now he looks almost... angry. 

 

Phil and Charlie stare at one another for longer than could be considered normal, though neither of them speak. After a while, Phil swallows and tears his gaze away, blinking rapidly. 

 

"I have to go." He says quietly, and turns to the door.

 

Dan wants to call after him, but he has no reason to, no excuse whatsoever. He barely understands what just happened. 

 

Then, before anything can be done, Phil is opening the door and stepping through. It closes behind him with a slam, and Dan runs a hand through his hair, staring at it. 

 

"Fuck." 

 

* * *

 

 

The following day is a school day, much to Phil's horror. He wakes up with what feels like a drill boring loudly into his skull, which evolves over the course of the morning into more of a cement-mixer-like sensation. His alcohol-soaked brains are the cement.

 

As he stares into his soggy bowl of cereal - what a sad day it is when he can't even stomach his favourite food - he listens politely to his mother's lecture about staying out late on school nights, going to parties with underage drinking, sneaking out without his parent's permission, along with some other fun complaints she adds in to spice it up a bit. 

 

All of it makes his headache ten times better, of course. When he clutches his head in pain as he walks out of the front door, his mum tuts, telling him it's his own fault, and this is his punishment. He nods miserably, agreeing with her entirely. Before he gets to the end of his path though, she runs after him, grabs his hand and places something square in it.  

 

"Don't say I never give you anything." She says, sighing and kissing him on the head. 

 

Once she's gone, Phil looks at what she gave him. A box of paracetamol. He smiles weakly. 

 

The pills won't scrub out the events of last night, but he supposes those events might be easier to deal with if he doesn't have a splitting headache. 

 

He swallows two immediately, dry, and sets off again, walking as slowly as he can because out of the whole day stretching ahead, this is the part he's dreading most.

 

The bus stop. With Dan. 

 

He gets there first, thankfully. He tries not to look down the street towards Dan's house like he does every other morning, but it's hard to break habits. He watches for a long time, eyes trained nervously on Dan's front door, but it stays closed. 

 

Phil checks his watch. It's eight-twenty. The bus is due right now. 

 

He glances in the other direction, up the road. Sure enough, the faint outline of the bus is emerging over the brow of the hill, chugging towards him slowly but surely. He turns one last time towards Dan's house, but the door is still closed, and Dan is still not here. He frowns, his stomach settling for now. 

 

Well, at least he doesn't have to face Dan just yet, he supposes. The bus pulls up, and Phil steps on. Several people make puking noises as he makes his way to his seat, all of them laughing. Phil rolls his eyes and lifts two fingers up, making sure everyone can see. There's another quick chorus of laughter at that, then it seems to die down. Phil relaxes into his seat, feeling incredibly miserable and not really sure why. 

 

He'd been dreading seeing Dan, after all. 

 

So why is he disappointed?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dan makes the tactical decision to skip school the day after the party. It's for the best, all things considered. This way, he doesn't have to suffer the embarrassment of talking to Phil, trying to explain the Charlie-thing, or listening to Phil's explanation of the spin-the-bottle-thing. 

 

Also, if he skips today, there's a chance that by Friday everyone will have gotten over the events of the party, and the memory of Phil chundering into Louise's toilet instead of kissing him will be just that - a distant memory. 

 

His mum is very understanding about it, of course. She comes into his room before work to ask him something; Dan thought that he'd be able to play hooky today without her noticing, as it's rare for him to see her in the mornings, but no such luck today, apparently. 

 

"Dan honey, have you seen my pesticide-free farming pamphlets- oh! You're still in bed!" She says, surprised.

 

Dan doesn't blame her for being shocked. He is hardly ever late for school, despite being left to his own devices to wake up, find his uniform, eat breakfast and make it to the bus stop. He hates being in the house on his own too much.

 

"Are you sick, baby?" She asks, concerned. She places her bag down on his floor, crossing to his bed. Her hand is on his forehead before Dan can even respond to her. 

 

"No, I'm not sick, mum." Dan says tiredly. 

 

"Are you sure? You feel very warm to me." 

 

"Yeah, I'm just..." Dan hesitates, not sure if he should tell her. She's always encouraged him to be honest with her, though. He decides to try it. "I went to a party last night. I was up quite late... and I was drinking."

 

Dan's mum raises her eyebrows, nodding. "I see. So you're feeling pretty rotten today, are you?"

 

Dan winces, but nods. "Yeah. I was thinking I might... take the day off. To recover." 

 

There's a pause, and for a fleeting moment, Dan wonders if his mum is about to actually get cross with him. Anger is a hard thing for Dan to pull out of her, not that he tries very hard. He's only been yelled at by his mum a handful of times, and more often than not it's because he didn't recycle something. 

 

"Well Dan, you know what you need to do." She says kindly, her eyes soft and a touch amused. She strokes a hand over his forehead, pushing his fringe away from his face. Dan closes his eyes at her touch. He only realises that he misses her when she shows him little snippets of affection like this. "You know your body. If you say you don't think you can manage school today, I believe you. I'll give your head of Sixth a ring."

 

Dan feels tears beginning to well in his eyes. His mum is so lovely, so trusting of him. And what does he do with that trust? He goes out and gets hammered on a school night, then gets her to help him play hooky at school. 

 

This guilt-trippy, do-what-you-feel-is-the-right-thing parenting style actually works pretty well, some of the time. 

 

"Thanks, mum." Dan tells her, hoping the sincerity of his gratitude comes across in his voice. "I've learnt my lesson, don't worry. I feel like crap."

 

He closes his eyes, and his mum draws away her touch, standing upright again. "Watch that language, Daniel." 

 

Dan's eyes flick open, surprised that she called him out on something so meaningless yet is perfectly fine about him skipping a day of his education. Perhaps this parenting style doesn't make much sense after all. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Dude, it can’t have been as bad as you think.” Chris says after school, adjusting his position on Phil’s bed. He tuts, reaching behind him to sort out the pillows before leaning back. 

 

Phil just looks at Chris, astounded that he could even say such a thing. "Chris, he was expecting me to kiss him, and instead I sprinted away from him to _throw up_." 

 

PJ laughs, spinning round in Phil’s office chair. “Yeah, that’s possibly not the best way to let someone know you like them.”

 

“It’s all the tequila’s fault.” Phil whines from where he's stood staring out of his bedroom window.

 

If he stands in just the right place, he can see the corner of Dan’s house. Sometimes, when it's open, he can even see the edge of Dan’s attic room window. That's how he knows Dan is in his room. That and the drumming, of course.

 

The window is shut now, though. A perfect metaphor for any minute chance Phil may have had to befriend Dan, let alone anything more than that.

 

“No,” Chris disagrees, frowning, “it’s all _Charlie’s_ fault.”

 

PJ sends Chris a warning look, probably thinking Phil can’t see him. It doesn’t matter though; Phil and Charlie are decidedly not friends anymore. A friend wouldn't get him drunk out of his mind, make him confess his secret crush, leave him alone, sick and barely able to stand, and then find that very same crush and-

 

“Whatever.” Phil sighs, stopping his own thought train before it chugs into places he doesn't want to think about. He turns away from the window at last. “It’s over now. I’ve fucked it.”

 

PJ lifts himself off the chair and walks over to Phil, slinging an arm round him. “Don’t say that, mate. Things might work out, still.”

 

“Something else happened.” Phil tells PJ miserably. "At the party. Something I didn't tell you."

 

Chris sits up straight, eyes gleaming at the prospect of more gossip. “What?”

 

“Something else?” PJ echoes, staring at Phil wide-eyed. “Something worse than the throwing up thing?”

 

Phil shrugs. "Arguable."

 

"Well, what is it?" Chris prompts excitedly. "Did you moon everyone? Oh please, please tell me there's at least partial nudity involved." 

 

Phil smiles faintly, shaking his head. "No... _I_ didn't do anything else embarrassing." He looks at his two best friends, both of them watching him expectantly. He sighs. Perhaps it'll be cathartic to tell them. "After I came down from the bathroom, I was leaving, and on my way to the door I saw..." 

 

Phil swallows, remembering the sick, heart-shattering feeling that had engulfed him in that moment. 

 

"Saw what, Phil?" PJ asks softly. 

 

"I saw Charlie and Dan." Phil spits out. PJ and Chris both look confused. Phil raises his eyebrows at them. "Kissing." 

 

" _What?!_ " Chris near-yells. PJ winces at the sound. "Oh,  _fuck_ that guy! I knew he was a sneaky little bastard but  _fuck-_ "

 

"Hold on." PJ interrupts. "Chris, I know you don't like him but Charlie hasn't technically done anything wrong besides give Phil his body weight in tequila, right?" 

 

Chris scoffs loudly. "Oh, because an attempted alcohol poisoning is just a  _minor_ offence-"

 

"All I'm saying is that he didn't necessarily _know_  that Phil likes Dan." PJ explains, a little tetchily. "I'm not the guy's biggest fan either, but for all he knows, Dan was just a random guy at the party. We can't hate on him for kissing Dan if he genuinely didn't know there was any reason not to." 

 

"Actually he did know." Phil says in a small voice. He grabs his toy lion off his bed and holds it to his chest, one thumb stroking over its bristly mane. 

 

"Know what?" PJ asks.

 

"He knew that I liked Dan. I told him earlier in the night." 

 

PJ stares at Phil for a drawn out moment, his eyes slowly widening. "Oh, well then  _fuck_ that guy with a fucking chainsaw. What a dick!" 

 

Chris laughs at PJ's sudden change of heart, and Phil can't help a smile creeping onto his face. 

 

"If he tries to 'roadie' for us now," Chris growls, using air quotes to show his level of scorn for the term, "I'll show him where he can stick his useless back-up aux cords."

 

Phil chuckles, but the laughter dies quickly on his lips. "But... what if it wasn't him?" Phil asks, aware he sounds despondent and whiny, but he can't help it. Christ, what has Dan Howell done to him? "What if it was Dan who kissed Charlie?" 

 

Chris scoots to the edge of the bed to sit closer to Phil. "Okay, granted I've only said a few words to the guy, but Dan does not seem like an idiot. Anyone with half a brain could see that Charlie is a jealous, desperate, selfish twat-face with no personality and no attractive qualities whatsoever past his reasonably good haircut." 

 

PJ pushes Chris back on the bed, rolling his eyes. "A little strongly worded perhaps, but I have to agree. Charlie is like a try-hard clone of you. It'd be stupid for Dan to go for the wannabe copy of the real thing." 

 

"Then why did he run away from me when we were talking? And why didn't he want to kiss me in spin the bottle?" Phil asks, meaning it to sound rhetorical, because he knows there are no answers to these questions unless he straight out asks Dan - and that's not happening. 

 

"Because the second the bottle pointed at you, you ran off to spew your stomach contents into the Pentland's pristine toilet bowl." Chris says brightly, probably thinking that helps. 

 

"Thanks for the reminder." Phil says sarcastically, and he buries his face in his hands. 

 

“Give it time. He'll forget all about it.” PJ assures Phil, patting him on the back. “In the meantime, has anyone had any breakthroughs with the new song lyrics?”

 

“I’m gonna take a stab at it tonight.” Phil tells them both as he lifts his head out of his hands. “I figure maybe I can work through this by channeling it into an angsty love ballad.”

 

“Gayyy.” Chris says jokily, winking at Phil. Phil chuckles at the ridiculousness of the statement, considering.

 

“You’re one to talk.” Phil whips back at him, winking too. There's one more thing the three of them haven't discussed about the party. “Where did you guys disappear off to last night, anyway? Have fun in the garden?”

 

PJ splutters a little, and Chris grins, his wink exaggerated this time. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

 

“There was no kissing!” PJ blurts, bright red. “No kissing.”

 

* * *

 

That night, Dan is in turmoil. He waits for as long as he can stand it, lying in bed watching YouTube videos. He gets up at various intervals to pace around the room. But the silence is like a swamp, pulling him into the murky depths, drowning him. His parents are asleep, and so is Adrian. Obviously, because it's almost midnight and they aren't messed up in the head like him. 

 

His fingers twitch at his sides, tapping beats in mid-air. He's managed to withstand the quiet for the past few nights. He'd been too affected by thoughts of Phil listening to him through the wall, being kept awake by Dan's late night drumming. He had tried, for Phil's sake, to stop.  

 

Silence has always prompted Dan to overanalyse his actions and make himself anxious and paranoid, but with the memory of recent disastrous events fresh in his mind, he can feel himself spiralling into a crisis. 

 

He waits for as long as he can, but his resolve crumbles eventually. 

 

"Sorry, Phil." Dan whispers into the thick darkness, and practically sprints to his drumkit, giving in. 

 

As soon as the sticks are in his hands, he can breathe again. Their familiar shape sits comfortably in the grooves of his palms. He breathes steadily, his foot finding the pedal, and then he begins. The silence rears back in horror, chased away by the loud, heavy pounding, and Dan smiles. 

 

He may be weak, he may be foolish, and he may even be undesirable in every way. But he has his drums, and the drums have him. They understand one another, they flow through one another until they are a singularity. Dan lets the noise he creates fill his ears, drowning out every thought or anxiety. His shoulders relax, and sweat beads on his brow. 

 

He spares a brief thought for the boy down the street, wondering if he's woken by the sound. He remembers the look on Phil's face in spin the bottle. He remembers the look on Phil's face when he'd walked in on him and Charlie. He remembers the look on Phil's face as he'd told Dan how talented he was. 

 

He drums louder, trying to chase the memories away. 

 

* * *

 

Long after Chris and PJ have gone, Phil is laying in bed, waiting for his hubbub of thoughts to die down. He's just closing his eyes when a familiar noise starts to reverberate through the walls. It starts quiet, the drumming, then it picks up speed, grows louder, more violent, obliterating Phil’s anxious thoughts.

 

Well, he thinks, sighing. There go his chances of a decent night’s sleep. He's not annoyed though. He means it when he says he'd rather listen to Dan all night than be unconscious and miss even one beat of his drum. 

 

So instead of trying to drift off, Phil throws the covers off himself and gets up, pressing his ear to the wall closest to Dan. The wall shakes a little with the sound, despite there being another house between them. Phil places his hand on the wall gently, and closes his eyes to listen. He shivers a little in the cold night air; he sleeps shirtless, always has.

 

He finds himself wondering if Dan is shirtless too, and almost chokes on his own saliva at the thought. A flare of arousal pings through his body, igniting long dormant sparks in his stomach and groin. The sight of Dan, his bare chest gleaming, stomach muscles tensed as he drums - it seems almost sinful. Phil's body heats up, feeling wicked for even imagining such a thing. 

 

He hasn’t felt this attracted to someone in a long time. Dan is so perfect. He’s inhumanly beautiful, he’s modest and distant in a way that makes him seem ethereal, unapproachable.

 

Making him smile feels like winning a prize.

 

Phil can hardly bear to imagine what touching him would be like. What he might have tasted like if Phil hadn't been so drunk, and had taken the chance to kiss him in that game.

 

Not that Dan would have necessarily agreed to kiss him back, but still.

 

It's physically painful to know that Charlie, of all people, actually knows what Dan tastes like. Charlie knows how Dan kisses, he's felt the tiny, rose pink mouth that Phil has fixated on for the past few weeks pressed against his. Maybe Dan had gripped his waist with those skilled, drummer's hands. Maybe he'd parted Charlie's lips and teased him with a daring tongue. 

 

Phil will never know any of this. Not past his own imaginings. Dan clearly isn't interested, no matter what Chris and PJ might say. He hadn't told them, but Phil had seen the look of fear on Dan's face when the bottle had paired them together in that game.

 

He evidently hadn't wanted to kiss Phil, and that was before Phil ran upstairs to puke. 

 

Dan wants someone like Charlie. Someone confident and flirtatious, not awkward and clumsy like him. He's doomed to suffer his unrequited love until he moves away from this town. He'll be forced to listen to the drumming each night, each clash of Dan's stick against the skins reminding him of how cruel love is, and what a shit situation he's found himself in. 

 

The drumming continues, oblivious to Phil's misery. Phil sighs, feeling a sort of comfort wash over him, his skin warming as the noise fills his room. He realises that he's been missing this, and remembers suddenly that this is the first time Dan has played his drums so late in three days. He'd said at the party that he was trying to stop doing it because he was worried about keeping Phil awake. 

 

He's only just remembered that. 

 

Phil frowns at the memory of that conversation. He can't figure Dan's motives out now anymore than he could then. 

 

Whatever, though, he thinks dismissively. It doesn't matter; Dan has obviously reverted back to his usual habits. After the party, he's probably realised that Phil isn't worth the trouble. 

 

After a listening for a while longer, Phil moves from the wall over to his desk. He sits down at his chair, his fingers tapping along to Dan's rhythm against his thigh. Again, the image of Dan drumming swims into his brain. This time, Dan is in Phil's room, drumkit and all. He's still shirtless, because Phil is a teenage boy and that's what his imagination is interested in, but Dan is smiling at him while he plays, a fond look in his eyes. His hair is messy and his neck and chest are flushed. Phil feels himself growing hot, which is not a good sign - he doesn't particularly want to have to face Dan after jerking off to the thought of him if at all possible - so to distract himself, he grabs a nearby slip of paper and a pen. 

 

With this tantalising image at the forefront of his mind, Phil begins to write. He realises just as he jots down the first word that he's scribbling on the back of a copy of his school report from last term. He glances at the front, grimacing a little. His grades aren’t fantastic, but they aren’t awful either. A distinctly average student, that’s Phil Lester.

 

He turns the paper back over.

 

He tries not to think too much about what he's putting down. That’s the key to good writing. You just have to let it flow. The imaginary-Dan next to him smiles in encouragement, his chocolate eyes warm and glinting. Two houses down, the sound of the drums continues steadily, clogging the air, engulfing Phil in the sound.

 

Concentrating on nothing but this, Phil writes.

 

_I think I’m in love,_

_With the boy next door…_

Two hours later, when the drums finally slow and stop, Phil has written a song. He stares down at it, surprised and exhausted. It doesn’t seem half bad right now, at two in the morning. But he knows to his cost that his tired brain isn’t much cop as a judge.

 

He stretches and stands, slinking over to the bed. He’ll look it over in the morning.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s Sunday afternoon and Dan is home alone, again. Well, Adrian’s here somewhere, but his little brother is so quiet that he might as well be a ghost. Dan’s supposed to be looking after him, but honestly Adrian is the most chilled out kid in the world. Dan had made him a sandwich, got one of his books down from the highest shelf in his room, and as soon as Adrian curled up with it, he’d left him alone.

 

Adrian is a voracious reader, and will devour a book in the course of a day, easily. He’s actually a fairly outgoing boy, far less shy than Dan, but he prefers his own company for sure. He and Dan never fight or anything. It’s always so peculiar when Dan listens to his peers complaining about their younger siblings and how bratty or annoying they are.

 

Adrian and Dan aren’t exactly close, but Dan can’t remember the last time he was actually irritated with his younger brother. Mostly they’re just civil to one another.

 

Most of the time Dan ‘babysitting’ Adrian consists of letting him read or play in peace, and leaving his own bedroom door open on the very slim chance that his little brother might need him for something.

 

It gets to four o’clock, and Dan’s about to drive himself insane thinking about Phil again, when the doorbell rings.

 

Ah, he thinks, springing to his feet, happy for the distraction. Finally, a job for the older sibling. 

 

As he walks out into the hall, Adrian pokes his head out of his room, looking curious. "Who's that?"

 

"I dunno." Dan answers, shrugging, and jogs down the stairs. "Stay up here, okay?"

 

Dan hears Adrian mutter something in an irritated voice, but ignores it. Just because his little brother is easy to look after, doesn't mean Dan's not going to do his job properly. Sure, it's a little paranoid to keep Adrian upstairs while he answers the door just in case of murderous, axe-wielding child stealers, but it's better to be safe than sorry. 

 

He gets to the front door and pulls it open cautiously, drawing himself up to his full height in the hopes of being intimidating. This is, of course, laughable, because Dan looks and is about as threatening as a fruit fly. 

  

As it turns out, there are no axe-murderers on Dan's doorstep this afternoon. Instead, Louise stands there, eyes roving over him once before bursting out laughing.

 

"What the fuck, Dan? You look like you're about to sucker punch me." She pushes past him with a nonchalance that astounds Dan somewhat, seeing as this is the first time she's ever been to his house. "Cute crib." 

 

Dan closes the door, not sure what else to do. "Um, come in, by all means."

 

Louise laughs, her voice like Christmas bells. She tosses her brilliant blonde curls over shoulder, turning to smile at him. "Are we alone, Daniel?"

 

Dan's eyes boggle slightly. "Er... yeah?"

 

At that second, there's a distinct creaking noise, and Dan and Louise glance towards the stairs just in time to watch two child-size feet scurrying up them. 

 

Louise cocks an eyebrow at Dan. "Oh, really?" 

 

"Yeah." Dan says, still staring at where Adrian disappeared. "I mean, that's just my little brother. Why?" 

 

She nods slowly, seeming to think about something. "I just want to talk to you about some stuff." She says in a kind voice, sending up Dan's hackles at once. "I thought we could have some tea and chat." 

 

Dan fidgets a little. He hates talking about his feelings, and he especially doesn't want to divulge the current shitstorm in his brain, even if it is to Louise. He's feeling a little ambushed by this whole thing. 

 

"You know, Lou, most people call before turning up at their friend's house, demanding tea and a DMC." He says, smiling at her, but he walks towards the kitchen anyway, Louise hot on his heels. 

 

"DMC?" She asks, sounding confused.

 

"Deep meaningful chat." Dan supplies helpfully, and she sniffs. 

 

Dan laughs at her. She doesn't like to be out of the loop, even about stupid stuff like the latest memes or slang terms. It's something Dan finds hilarious about her, and he may or may not purposefully integrate slightly abstract abbreviations and references into their conversation just to see her 'hmmph' reaction.

 

"Well, I thought that considering I'm a close, personal friend of Mr Dan Howell, I'd be welcomed at any time." Louise says a little sniffily, though Dan can hear the joking tone in her voice. 

 

"Of course you're always welcome, Lou." He says, boiling the kettle. He takes a deep breath, surrendering himself to Louise's wishes. "Go on then, what's the topic of discussion for today?"

 

There's a pause as Dan reaches into the cupboard above him for the mugs; he glances at Louise, wondering why she's not speaking. She's watching him closely, biting her lip. 

 

"Phil Lester." She says at last, and Dan drops one of the mugs. He has quick reflexes, and manages to grab it before it shatters, just. 

 

He sets both mugs carefully down on the counter, and takes his time about getting the teabags. "Wh-what about him?"

 

“Look, I can tell that what happened with Phil at the party upset you.” Louise says matter-of-factly, smoothing out her cute pleated skirt. Her cheeks are a little pink, and not just from the sparkly blusher she's wearing. 

 

Dan averts his eyes, focusing all of his attention on tea-making. 

 

“It’s fine.” He replies after a moment, stirring the tea. “Was it mildly humiliating for him to run to the bathroom to puke instead of kissing me? Yes. Will I get over it?” Dan hesitates, pouring a splash of milk into their cups. He hands Louise her mug. “Yes.”

 

“Dan, you know the two things aren't related.” Louise says, sounding very sure of herself, and Dan chuckles humourlessly. “Felix and Alfie told me they saw Charlie urging Phil to do tequila shots earlier in the night. He was probably wasted by the time he... you know.”

 

“Mmhmm," Dan nods, sipping his tea, "yeah. _Or_ he was so severely repulsed by the idea of kissing me that he literally vomited.”

 

Louise sets her tea down with a clang. A little of it spills onto the kitchen countertop. “Daniel James Howell, if you think that Phil Lester isn’t perfectly aware of how lucky he would be to get to lay a finger on you, let alone his lips, then you’re an complete moron.”

 

Dan sips his tea again, staring at Louise dead-on. “That's me. Dan Howell: Moron.”

 

Louise makes a noise of exasperation. “You’re both as bad as each other.”

 

Dan starts a little at that, but tactfully chooses not to ask her to elaborate. He doesn't know what Louise means, but he does know that the only reason for her making such an ambiguous statement is to get him to beg her for details. Dan loves Louise, but he can see through her from a mile off. She's lovely and kind-hearted and loyal, she has everyone's best interest at heart, but alongside this, she has a problem with wanting to meddle. She loves to hold all the cards, to know all the secrets and gossip - that way she can manoeuvre things however she pleases. With all the pieces displayed before her, Louise can move them about like the queen she is, using school, her parties and whatever else she reins over as a chessboard in which it all plays out. 

 

Dan doesn't want to play, though. Louise is clearly intent on involving him in some mad plot of hers; what she doesn't know is that he'll be of no use to her. He would only muck it all up somehow, because that's the sort of guy he is. He has a sneaking suspicion that Louise's plan is to try and set him up with Phil, and if that's the case then he wishes her luck with it.

 

If Wednesday night proved anything, it's that Phil Lester is not interested in him. This is one game Louise cannot hope to win. So he doesn't ask Louise to elaborate. She'll only make something up to persuade him he still has a chance in order to get him to keep playing. But Dan's not going to be that easily fooled. He knows it's useless. It’s far better to let this disaster of a crush fade over time by distancing himself from it. Sure, it'll be difficult considering his proximity to Phil for at least another year, but at least if he tries to forget, he has a chance at moving past it.

 

“Wanna watch _Don’t Tell The Bride_?” Dan asks Louise instead, giving her a knowing smile. “I recorded the new episode.”

 

“Damn you, Howell.” Louise says crossly, because Dan has played on her weakness, bridal shows, and he knows it. “If you think we’re done talking about this, you’re sorely mistaken.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Phil, this is… this is fucking good.” Chris says, eyes glued to the back of Phil’s school report.

 

PJ is reading over Chris’ shoulder; both of them wear their guitars, low slung at their waists. PJ hums the tune of the new song, seemingly applying Phil’s lyrics to it in his mind.

 

“Damn, Phil.” PJ says, taking a step back. “Being all lovestruck and pining suits you.”

 

Phil smiles sheepishly. Honestly, he’s proud of himself. This might be his favourite song that he’s ever written.

 

“Are you gonna be okay to sing this though, Phil?” PJ asks after a moment, and Phil looks at him in confusion.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Phil asks.

 

“Well, it’s clearly about him.” Chris answers, chuckling a little. “People are gonna know.”

 

Phil chews his lip. He hadn’t thought it was that obvious. It’s not like he mentions Dan by name in the song.

 

“Not that many people.” Phil says uncertainly. “How many students at BRG even know Dan plays the drums?”

 

PJ shrugs. “Dan hangs out with the popular kids. People find ways of finding everything out about them.”

 

“All we’re saying is, if we add this song to our set list-” Chris starts to say.

 

“Which I think we _definitely_ should, just saying.” PJ interrupts.

 

“-then there’s a chance people are gonna connect the dots.” Chris finishes.

 

Phil sighs, fingers playing with his microphone stand. Maybe that’s a risk he’ll just have to take.

 

* * *

 

Louise leaves a few hours later, and Adrian emerges from his room shortly after.

 

Dan smiles at him, in a decent mood after Louise’s visit, despite her trying to get him to talk about Phil.

 

“Hey, shall I get dinner started? No idea when Mum and Dad will be home.”

 

Adrian shrugs, looking at Dan with a funny expression. Dan ignores it and walks into the kitchen, opening the fridge to see what can be made food-wise.

 

Adrian follows him, still staring with that quizzical expression. Dan notices and sighs, turning towards him.

 

"Her name is Louise and she's my friend from school. No, she's not my girlfriend. Yes, you can tell mum and dad she was here." 

 

Adrian says nothing, his expression unchanging. 

 

Dan rolls his eyes, deciding to ignore it, turning back to the fridge. He doesn't pretend to know half of the stuff roiling around in his ten year old brother's head. Maybe he's trying to work out how much of a dweeb his older brother truly is, and how he can ever live with the shame of sharing a last name with him.

 

Sighing, Dan pulls out eggs, cheese and vegetables. They're having omelettes, he decides. If his mum and dad complain about the lack of nutrition, then Dan will calmly explain that he is merely an awkward, ridiculous sloth-like creature inhabiting the body of a lanky seventeen year old boy, pretending he knows how to adult. 

 

“Dan, who’s Phil?”

 

Splat.

 

One of the eggs drops to the floor, shattering on impact.

 

“Shit!” Dan cries, and Adrian splutters, sounding delighted. “I mean, ‘sugar’. Crap, pretend you didn’t hear that.” Dan dumps the rest of the ingredients down on the counter, his cheeks aflame. “Get me a wipe, would you?”

 

Adrian does as he’s told in a calm, obedient manner, being good and patient so that Dan will answer him. Dan feels Adrian’s eyes on him as he cleans up the mess, and sighs exaggeratedly.

 

“Phil’s… he’s no one, okay?” Dan says, glancing up at Adrian from where he's scrubbing egg white off the floor. “Did you hear me and Louise talking earlier?”

 

Adrian shrugs, tactfully playing the ‘neither yes or no’ card. Dan rolls his eyes at his brother’s cleverness.

 

“He’s our neighbour. He lives two houses that way.” Dan tells Adrian once the floor is relatively egg-less. He straightens up, jabbing a thumb in the direction of Phil’s house. He sees Phil walking up the path to it every day after school, so he has no doubt which one it is. “Louise and I go to school with him.”

 

"Is Phil the boy with the black hair that waits at the bus stop with you?" 

 

"Yes."

 

Adrian stays quiet for a moment, then asks: “Why did Phil lay his lips on you?”

 

Dan feels his face heating even more, completely mortified. How much does Adrian even understand about this stuff? How far does Dan need to go to satisfy his little brother’s curiosity?

 

“He didn’t.” Dan snaps, a little too harshly, probably.

 

“Louise said he’d be lucky to lay his lips on you. I heard her.” Adrian says, recalling the memory. 

 

Dan turns away from Adrian then, unable to look him in the eye. He digs a frying pan out of the cupboard and sets about making dinner. Adrian is quiet for a while, seeming to understand that Dan doesn't really want to talk about this. 

 

"Does laying your lips on someone mean kissing them?" Adrian asks, tilting his head to one side as he watches Dan whisking the eggs. 

 

Dan sighs again, but nods. "Yeah, I guess."

 

"So... you and Phil were going to  _kiss_ each other?" Adrian asks, sounding mortified at the prospect.

 

Dan can't help but laugh at his brother's expression. "Sort of. It was for a silly game. And we didn't, so it doesn't matter."

 

Adrian's eyebrows knit together, as though he's untangling a knot of confusing thoughts in his mind. Dan smiles at him fondly, then places the bowl of eggs down to start chopping some vegetables. 

 

"If it was for a game..." Adrian asks slowly, and Dan rolls his eyes. Why must children of this age be so inquisitive? "Then why are you sad he didn't kiss you?" 

 

Dan turns and stares at his little brother; he’s ninety percent sure that Adrian has no idea what the hell he’s on about, but he often surprises Dan with his intelligence. 

 

His mind has a little argument with itself, debating the pro's and con's of telling his brother the truth. If he lies to Adrian, the questions will surely persist until Dan is driven mad. Adrian is certainly not stupid, and if he decides he wants to know something, he generally doesn't give up trying to find out everything until he's completely satisfied. Dan knows this to his cost. It's usually easier not to keep secrets from him, because sooner or later Adrian will get so persistent that the truth comes out anyway. 

 

On the other hand, he could just tell Adrian the truth. It's not like Adrian has anyone to tell. Even if he spread it round all of his primary school buddies, it would never get back to Phil, or anyone at Dan's school. Besides, Dan is pretty sure that Adrian would have no reason to tell anyone anyway. 

 

It seems like the best option, on the whole. "Well," Dan begins slowly, his cheeks heating, "I guess I wanted him to kiss me. Even if it wasn't in a game." 

 

Adrian's eyes widen, and his mouth falls open. "Ew, _why_?" 

 

Dan laughs outright, and pours the first omelette into the pan. "Kissing is nice." Dan explains, and Adrian wrinkles his nose. "Phil is nice too."

 

"But he's a boy!" 

 

At this point, tears of laughter are pricking at Dan's eyes. "Well observed. Boys can want to kiss boys, you know." 

 

"I don't understand." Adrian sighs, sounding frustrated. 

 

Dan glances at him; he's pouting. "It's just the same as when a boy wants to kiss a girl-"

 

" _No._ " Adrian interrupts, rolling his eyes like Dan is stupid. He folds his arms in a teacher-y way, making Dan smile. "I get  _that._ I've seen John Paul and Craig kiss each other on _Hollyoaks._ "

 

"You watch _Hollyoak_ s?" Dan asks, sounding shocked. 

 

"Mum does, but it's a secret." Adrian says and Dan laughs. "What I don't understand is why you and Phil didn't kiss in the game if you both wanted to kiss each other." 

 

Dan's smile falls, and he turns back to the omelette. His throat constricts a little, and he wishes this conversation would end soon.

 

"Um, well, Phil actually doesn't want to kiss me." Dan explains, clearing his throat. He tactfully leaves out that Phil would actually apparently rather taste his own vomit than Dan's lips. 

 

"Yes he does." Adrian surprises Dan by saying. 

 

Dan looks over at Adrian, confused. "What?"

 

"I see him looking at you." Adrian says, like it's nothing. "When you guys wait at the bus stop, you're looking away, but Phil is always, always looking at you." 

 

"You creep," Dan laughs, though it sounds fake even to his own ears, "what are you doing watching us at the bus stop?"

 

"It's boring waiting for dad to take me to school." Adrian says impatiently. "Phil looks at you just like John Paul used to look at Craig, before they kissed each other." 

 

Dan blushes hard then, and he makes a noise that's somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "Ade, if he wanted to kiss me, he would have, wouldn't he? In the game." 

 

"That's what I don't understand." Adrian says, still sounding frustrated. Dan grabs a plate for him, and shovels his omelette onto it. 

 

"I think you're watching too many soap operas." Dan says, grinning at Adrian as he hands him his dinner. 

 

Adrian sighs, taking it from him with a small thank you. Dan ruffles his hair and he goes into the next room to eat. As soon as his little brother leaves the kitchen, Dan feels a sharp stab of pain in his chest - a result of Adrian's cruel reminder of Phil's indifference.

 

What had all of that been about? Where on earth was Adrian getting these crazy ideas about Phil watching him at the bus stop? About Phil wanting to kiss him for Christ's sake? 

 

He tries to shrug it off, turning back to the bowl of eggs and chopped veg. He reaches for the stove dial, about to switch it back on to whip himself up something to eat as well, but he stops, sighing. 

 

The stab of pain increases in its ferocity, and Dan feels his mood dropping. 

 

Yeah, he thinks, pouring the remaining eggs down the sink. He's not hungry anymore. 

 

* * *

 

“Phiiiill!”

 

The sound of his name echoes from down the corridor, louder than the chattering of the students making their way to class. Phil stops dead in his tracks, wondering who or what on earth could be making that racket.

 

“Phiiiiiiiiiiiillll!”

 

This time, the voice is identifiable. Phil rolls his eyes, sending looks of apology to the people around him as he pushes back in the opposite direction, towards Chris’s hollering. His friend sounds like a damn hippopotamus, charging through the herds of people, bellowing at the top of its lungs. 

 

Eventually, after a lot of mumbled apologies and annoyed grunts from the people he pushes past, Phil catches sight of Chris in the crowd. The minute they make eye contact, Chris is hurtling towards him until they collide, and then Phil is clutching an armful of his best friend.

 

“Phil, I’ve done it!” Chris exclaims, shoving a piece of paper against Phil’s chest with a considerable amount of vigour. “I’ve bloody done it!”

 

“Calm down, it’s nine in the morning.” Phil says tiredly, taking the paper from Chris’s hand and peering at it.

 

It takes a moment for the words to sink in; Chris bounces up and down on the balls of his feet, waiting for Phil to react.

 

“Oh my God.” Phil breathes, eyes widening.

 

**This Saturday, 8pm!**

**Fresh Face Showcase @ Revolution Live Music Venue, Manchester!**

**All new bands! All new material! All new TALENT!**

**£5 Entry on the door.**

**Bands performing:**

**The Misery Jets  
**

**Tiny Planet Explorers**

**The Elementals**

**Wonderwall Killers**

**Manic Pixie Dream Bitch**

**See you there!**

Phil has to read the list of bands several times over before it sinks in. They’re on the bill! At a _paid_ gig.

 

“Chris, you genius!” Phil cries, lifting the guy into his arms and whirling him round, much to the annoyance of several people he manages to kick in the process. “How much are they paying us?”

 

“Next to nothing.” Chris tells him, grinning. “But _still_!”

 

Phil nods excitedly. It doesn’t matter that the pay is shit, the point is that it pays _at all_. This is their first real show as the Tiny Planet Explorers. People will be paying to watch them in an actual venue. This is a huge step for them.

 

“How did you manage this?!” Phil asks Chris as he sets him down, slightly bewildered. His mind is reeling; he had not been expecting such good news this morning.

Chris looks a little sheepish at this question. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, an expression of guilt on his face as he taps it a few times, finding something.

 

“Well, don't be mad, okay?" Chris tells Phil, who immediately feels himself growing stern. Chris is renowned for doing stupid, reckless, thoughtless things. There's no telling what he could be about to show Phil. "So, on Sunday, at band practice… I might’ve recorded us.”

 

Chris cringes a little, clearly expecting a negative response. Phil doesn't give him one. Why would that be a bad thing, he wonders. They've recorded their practices before, Phil doesn't care about that.

 

Seeing that he's not in trouble yet, Chris ploughs on. He taps his phone, and Phil's voice pours out of the speakers, sounding muffled and in shitty quality, but unmistakably him. Phil stares blankly at Chris, not understanding why this is such a big deal, and then he realises what the song is.

 

"Shit, Chris!" Phil exclaims, turning red. "Turn that off! Someone could hear!"

 

It's the new song. The one Phil wrote at two in the morning, about Dan.

 

Chris turns it off quickly, to Phil's relief. Nobody seems to have heard, which is thankful.

 

"Don't be mad, it's just that the song's so good, and we killed it at practice, but I knew that you had reservations about singing it live." Chris explains hurriedly, and Phil frowns. "So… I recorded us. Club Revolution do this thing called the Fresh Face Showcase every month, and I've been waiting for something good enough to send them so we'd have a chance of getting on the bill. When I heard your song out loud, I knew it'd get us in.”

 

Phil listens to Chris with as much patience as he can muster. After a while, he blows a puff of air upwards, making his fringe flutter. "You should have told me. And PJ." 

 

"PJ... knows." Chris says tentatively.

 

"What?!" Phil exclaims, feeling put out all of a sudden. 

 

"We didn't think there was any harm in it." Chris says, wincing. "We'd just send in the recording to Revs, and on the off-chance we got it, we'd tell you. But we thought you might freak out if we told you before that. Are you mad?"

 

Phil considers the question for a long moment. He glances down at the flyer in his hand, his eyes moving once again to the printed name of their band, listed on a real gig poster. He smiles. 

 

"No, I'm not mad." Phil says, and then Chris is jumping on him, whooping with joy. Phil laughs, jumping about with him. "No more band secrets though, okay? The Tiny Planet Explorers are a team."

 

Chris nods happily. "Of course we are." His voice drops to a near-whisper. "And listen, we don’t even have to tell anyone from school that this is happening. Then you can sing that song and there’s no way of it getting back to _you know who._ ”

 

Phil nods, gulping a little. He doesn't particularly even want to consider that scenario. “Yeah, let's... keep it on the DL. At least for now.”

 

"Sure."

 

He pauses, then remembers something he had meant to ask Chris before. "Hey, you don't have that old report of mine do you? The one with the lyrics of the new song on it?" 

 

"No, why?" Chris replies, frowning. 

 

"I could have _sworn_ I put it in my locker... but I just went there and it wasn't there." 

 

"Oh fuck, does this mean that you don't know the words to the song that got us on the bill at Revs?" Chris asks, his voice strained. 

 

Phil smiles at his expression. "No, unfortunately the lyrics are tattooed onto my brain due to all the gross emotion attached to them."

 

"Thank fuck." Sighs Chris. "I mean, not about all your associated pain and shit, but y'know."

 

Phil chuckles, but finds himself biting his lip again, feeling muddled. "I was so sure I put the lyrics in my locker. It's so weird." 

 

Chris smiles reassuringly, linking their arms together. “They'll turn up. It doesn't matter anyway, as long as you know them."

 

"Yeah, I guess." Phil says. Something feels a little off about the whole situation to him; he rarely gets mixed up like this. Lately he feels as though this Dan stuff is making him lose his damn mind.

 

"One day," Chris tells Phil in a fairytale voice as they walk, "when we're rich and famous rock stars, Dan will hear that song and think ' _shit,_ Phil Lester, god of sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll, fancied the absolute  _pants_ off of me and I did nothing'." 

 

Phil shushes him exaggeratedly, but laughs, and together they walk towards their class. On his way, Phil scrunches up the poster in his hand into a tight ball and throws it into a nearby bin. 

 

There'll be plenty of those lying about at Revolution on Saturday if he really wants one as a keepsake. 

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, Dan is the other side of the building when the bell rings. It's lunchtime, and he's hovering around the Music block, peering into the practice rooms, wondering if any of them have drumkits in. Obviously they wouldn't compare to his one at home, but practising at school would certainly have its benefits. First off, the rooms are soundproof, so there's no chance of Dan pissing anyone off with the noise, and then he won't be worrying about keeping dreamy, pale-skinned teenage boys awake at half past one in the morning. Secondly, if he stayed late to practise at school, it would be another reason for him not to be home alone in his empty house.

 

He discovers that there are, in fact, some falling apart drumkits in a couple of the practice rooms. Dan is just about to find a teacher to ask about the possibility of booking one out, when the aforementioned end-of-lunch bell interrupts him. He practically sprints across school to the Upper Sixth corridor, praying that he won't be late to class again, because Mrs Linden seriously has it out for him at this point. 

  

Everyone else is seated by the time Dan walks into the classroom, but he makes it before the second bell, so all Mrs Linden can do is glare as he wanders over towards his desk. 

  

The best thing about Sociology is that it's the only lesson he gets to sit next to Louise. He sits heavily down beside her, panting a little from the exertion of making it here on time. She reaches over and squeezes his hand as a hello; Dan smiles at her.

 

Mrs Linden's brilliant teaching method is to lecture the class for ten minutes, tell them to open their textbooks, and then make them do endless sets of questions in silence or, if she's feeling particularly charitable, with 'low chatter'. 

 

Today happens to be a 'low chatter' day, which means that Dan is able to actually speak to Louise once the lecture ends. He turns to face her once their questions have been set, and opens his mouth to ask her how she is. 

 

At that second however, Louise gets a tap on the shoulder from someone behind her. She and Dan turn round, surprised to see a small, elfin girl with shrew-like features and a pixie cut, clutching a sheet of paper and grinning. 

 

“Hey, Louise, did you hear?” She asks.

 

Louise beams at the girl in that way of hers, as though this person were exactly who she wanted to see at this moment. “Hey, Becky. Cute hairgrip. Hear what?”

 

“The Tiny Planet Explorers have a gig on Saturday!” The girl, Becky, squeals excitedly, thrusting the paper she's holding at Louise. 

 

Dan blinks in bewilderment, absolutely no idea what she’s on about, and not that interested either. He decides to let Louise deal with it, and turns back to the list of questions on Internet Addiction instead.

 

For some reason, he feels Louise’s eyes on him almost at once, boring into the side of his skull. He tries to ignore it, focusing on his set task. Louise smooths out the poster she's been given, studying it for a moment. 

 

“Oh.” He hears Louise say uncertainly. She's definitely staring at him, Dan thinks, shifting uncomfortably under the heat of her gaze. “Wow, that's amazing. It's in Manchester?”

 

“I know, right! A proper venue! They're gonna be sooo famous. Hanna and Charlie and I are gonna make t-shirts to go and watch them.” Becky tells Louise, grinning.

 

Dan flinches at the sound of Charlie's name. Bad memories. Not that he's even spoken to Charlie since the party, when he'd fled Charlie's side after Phil caught them.

 

"Charlie?" Louise repeats, her voice strange. "Wait, Becky, how did you find out about this gig?"

 

“Charlie said he found a poster for the event." Becky tells her, shrugging. "He wants everyone to go and support them, so he’s been making loads of copies of it. He passed a bunch out to everyone at lunch today.”

 

Louise shifts in her seat, her knees knocking against Dan’s.

 

“That’s... weird.” She says, and Dan can hear the frown twisting her lips. “Surely if they wanted people to know about their gig, Phil, Chris and PJ would hand out their own posters.”

 

Dan drops his pen in surprise at the mention of Phil’s name; it rolls off his book and over the edge of the desk. He bends down to get it, heart pounding a little as he strains to hear every bit of Louise and Becky’s conversation.

 

“He’s just being nice.” Becky says defensively. “Charlie's basically part of the Tiny Planet Explorers anyway. He's their unofficial roadie.”

 

“No, he is _not_." Louise corrects her, sounding unusually cross now. "I actually speak to Phil fairly regularly, and he has told me on multiple occasions that Charlie is often saying and doing things that directly affect the band without consulting them. Phil said that Charlie appointed _himself_ the title of 'roadie', and neither he, nor Chris, nor PJ agreed to it." 

 

Damn, Dan thinks, his heart racing as he listens to all this. He had no idea about any of this. He didn't even know that Charlie and Phil knew each other all that well. His heart sinks as he remembers Phil and Charlie's weird exchange of looks when Phil had seen them kissing. So, to top off everything else that Dan has done to repel Phil Lester, he's also gone and made out with his enemy.

 

For fuck's sake, could this situation get any worse?

 

"Oh my God, Louise!" Becky cries, clearly affronted. "Back off! Charlie is being a nice guy and a good friend. If Phil really said that stuff then he's a dick!"

 

"Phil is not a dick." Dan finds himself interjecting, his fist clenching as he straightens up to glare at Becky. "If Charlie is that 'nice' of a guy, then he'd ask consent before divulging information that Phil or Chris or PJ might not want spread around."

 

"In my experience," Louise adds, "Charlie rarely does anything just to be nice. Everyone knows he's got the world's biggest crush on Phil. Think twice about his motives before you just turn up uninvited on Saturday.” 

 

Dan stares at Louise, mind reeling like an unspooling VHS tape. Charlie has a crush on Phil? Christ, what else is he in the dark about? 

 

“It’s a public event.” Becky protests, though she sounds a little uncertain now.

 

"Oh, then I'll mention to Phil that you're going when I next see him. I'm sure he'll be thrilled." Louise says, plastering on an incredible false smile. 

 

"No!" Becky says at once, blushing bright red. "No, um, don't do that. Maybe you're right about it not being a great idea. I'll talk to Charlie again... don't tell Phil, okay?"

 

Louise shrugs. "Have it your way." 

 

With that, Becky slinks back into her seat, chewing her lip and burying her nose in her textbook. Dan stares at Louise, barely blinking at all. She notices him, and snorts with laughter. 

 

"Something you want to ask, Dan?" 

 

“The Tiny Planet Explorers are... Phil's band?” He asks immediately, keeping his voice low.

  

“Wow, impressive. You managed to pick that up.” Louise says sarcastically, grinning at him. She pinches his cheek, laughing. "Beauty and brains." 

 

Dan ignores her, his mind running a mile a minute. He feels overloaded with that sudden onslaught of information. 

 

"What... was all that about Charlie?" Dan asks her weakly, not really wanting to know the answer, but feeling as though he's too entangled in all of this not to ask.

 

Louise rolls her eyes, her face growing cold. "Look, on the surface, Charlie is a perfectly decent guy." Louise admits, shrugging. She unashamedly leans over to study the answers Dan has scrawled in his workbook, copying them in neat print into her own. "Before I knew better, I thought of him like everyone else does, as the 'unofficial roadie' of the Tiny Planet Explorers, which is basically just code for their biggest fan. Everyone in the entire fucking world knows he has the hots for Phil; he's not exactly shy about it."

 

Dan breathes in deeply, marvelling at how he could have missed all this. He really needs to tone down the amount of times he shuts himself away from the everyday world by plugging himself into his iPod and staring into space.

 

"Then Mr James made me and Phil lab partners. After a while, he starts telling me about all the weird stuff Charlie does." Louise notices the permanent look of surprise on Dan's face, and hastily backtracks. "He's not bitching or anything, but, like, he'll be talking about their last gig in Phil's brother's friend's living room, and he'll just casually mention that Charlie was there too, uninvited. Charlie'll chat up Phil's brother's friends to try and make him jealous, or take credit for writing the songs or tuning the guitars, or at the very least he'll say some creepy, sexual shit to Phil all night and make him super uncomfortable."

 

"But... why?" Dan asks, bewildered. Louise sighs, smoothing out the poster Becky handed her on their table. One of her sparkly silver painted fingernails traces underneath Phil's band's name.

 

"Phil suspects it's because Charlie is desperate to be part of the band however he can." Louise says, sounding like she doesn't buy this. "I think it's more basic than that."

 

Dan looks at Louise, uncomprehending. "How so?"

 

"I think he's obsessed with Phil, and will do anything at all to be close to him." Louise states, and Dan splutters. 

 

"What?!" 

 

"It makes sense if you see the way he acts around Phil." Louise says, sounding serious, to Dan's astonishment. "He's insanely jealous of anyone that even talks to him - even Chris and PJ to an extent." 

 

"Sorry, Lou, I don't think-"

 

"There was this girl last year, Amanda." Louise interrupts, her eyes gleaming like she's about to divulge a secret. "She was doing a contemporary dance in the talent show at the end of term, and hung around Phil a lot during rehearsals. Phil's a funny guy and they got along well - she might have fancied him a bit, but nothing mad, and they never did anything. But on the night of the show, she's on stage doing her dance. She's wearing this big, floaty dress thing, and right as she's pirouetting or whatever, it just falls down - and she's  _starkers_ underneath."

 

Dan's mouth falls open. "Oh my God!"

 

"Well, she was wearing knickers." Louise says, shrugging. "But that's not much consolation. Everyone laughed at her, obviously, and she went home humiliated - didn't talk to anyone for the whole of Summer break. She's back at school now, but she doesn't really hang out with her old friends anymore. People still make fun of her for it."

 

"What's this got to do with Charlie?" Dan asks, his heart going out for that poor girl. 

 

Louise stares Dan in the eyes, leaning in close. "Charlie volunteered backstage at the talent show. He was stage manager, and the  _only_ one with access to the costume cupboard apart from teachers." 

 

Dan splutters again. "Oh, come  _on._ " He rolls his eyes. "You think that Charlie tampered with some poor girl's costume, humiliating her, because she was flirting with-"

 

"I'm not saying anything." Louise says, holding up her hands in protest. "I just think it's an awfully big coincidence, considering how I've seen him get around other people that flirt with Phil." 

 

Dan rolls his eyes again, sure that Louise is full of shit. There's no way anybody would do something that cruel and petty for such a stupid reason. He turns back to his Internet Addiction questions, completing three before his mind wanders again. 

 

He can't help but think back to the party, which is the only real interaction he and Charlie have had. The more he thinks about it, the stranger it seems. How did Charlie know that Dan would be so upset when Phil didn't kiss him? Why did he come and find Dan in that alcove and try to cheer him up? They barely knew each other, after all. 

 

More than that, even though Dan doesn't want to think about it, he can't help but wonder why on earth Charlie kissed him at all. If he suspected Dan liked Phil, then it would be nonsensical. It would be even more nonsensical if  _Charlie_ liked Phil too. 

 

Unless, like Louise thinks, Charlie had some sort of ulterior motive. 

 

That look that Phil and Charlie exchanged was loaded with unspoken words. Dan would give his left arm to know what those words are. 

 

He places his pencil down carefully. "Okay... Maybe you're on the right track about Charlie." 

 

Louise glances up from her work, her hair having fallen over her face. She tucks it behind her ear, gazing at him. 

 

"Why the change of heart?"

 

"Because..." Dan hesitates, glancing at her. "Because he kissed me." 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Oi, fellas!”

 

Chris, Pj and Phil are walking out of school when they hear the shout from the bottom of the steps they’re descending. They look up from their deep conversation about Game of Thrones to see Joe and Caspar leant against the railings, both grinning from ear to ear.

 

Both of them clutch a piece of paper in their hands.

 

“Nice one, guys!” Caspar says, taking a step towards them as they approach. “Not just posers after all, eh?”

 

Phil and his best friends exchange looks of confusion.

 

“What’re you on about?” Chris asks.

 

Joe laughs, coming over to clap Phil on the back. “Very modest, I like it boys.”

 

“So, if we come can you get us free drinks or what?” Caspar asks, holding up the poster in his hand.

 

The blood drains from Phil’s face at once. He recognises the poster immediately. It’s the one for the gig on Saturday, announcing that the Tiny Planet Explorers will be playing at Revolution.

 

“Where… did you get that?” Phil asks as he snatches the poster from Caspar, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Oh my God, Phil, I swear I didn’t-” Chris starts to say, but Caspar interrupts him.

 

“Your roadie’s handing them out.” He says, nodding to the area of the parking lot where a large group of people are swarming. “Said you asked him to spread the word.”

 

“No.” PJ says coldly, glaring over at the group of chattering people, all holding posters and talking excitedly. “We didn’t.”

 

“Shit guys, sorry. We didn’t know.” Joe says, the grin falling from his face.

 

“It’s not your fault.” Phil says, feeling a whirlpool of quiet anger swirling up within him. He shoves the poster at PJ, who takes it worriedly. “Wait here.”

 

“Wait, what are you gonna-”

 

Phil doesn’t hear the end of PJ’s question, because he’s already storming over towards the crowd of people, pushing his way through them into the centre, where he’s fairly certain what he’ll find.

 

People congratulate him happily as he passes them, and he tries to give them all strained smiles, but he’s too focused on other things. This is a disaster. If they all know, and they all turn up to the gig…

 

Well, he can’t play that song now, can he? Not now that all his peers – maybe even Dan himself – will be standing in the audience, listening to every word.

 

And without that song on their set list, what chance do the Tiny Planet Explorers have of making a lasting impression on the audience at Revs? They’ll be up against older, more experienced bands, who probably have their own drummers and have played tons of gigs far cooler and more impressive than the 'Fresh Face Showcase' in the dingy basement room of a club in Manchester.

 

Having people know about the gig could ruin their chances of getting anywhere as a band. Why on earth has Charlie done this?

 

Eventually, he gets to the centre of the crowd, and finds Charlie there, just as he suspected. The guy holds a considerably large stack of posters, and is handing them out to everyone within arms reach.

 

“Tiny Planet Explorers gig this Saturday, guys!” He calls out loudly. “Grab a poster, support BRG’s only example of talent!”

 

“Charlie!” Phil shouts, much to the surprise of everyone around him.

 

He can feel the blood starting to boil in his veins; he’s never felt this angry before. People seem surprised by it, their conversations halting as they turn to stare at him. Phil is not the kind of guy to throw bitch fits, even rarely.

 

Sure, he gets upset, sometimes miserable, but mostly he keeps to himself. His reputation at school is of being quiet, friendly, and a moderately decent singer for the band. He never gets involved in drama, never argues with people or kicks up a fuss. He's careful about that kind of thing. Gossip at BRG spreads like wildfire - fast, wide and so vicious it burns anyone within its radius. 

 

So, this is a big deal for him. He would never allow himself a public display of rage unless he felt it was truly worthy. This, he feels, is. 

 

Charlie stops calling out, glancing over at Phil along with everyone else. For a split second, Phil imagines that he sees a flicker of guilt on his face, but he blinks and it's gone. It's replaced by a beaming, shit-doesn't-stink grin, as if Charlie is totally unaware of what he’s doing right now. 

 

“Hey, gorgeous." Charlie sings at Phil. "Problem?”

 

Phil grits his teeth, hating that he just has to put up with the creepy pet names Charlie gives him. He takes a step closer, raising his voice so there's no doubt about his level of fury.

 

“We need to talk." He tells Charlie. "Now.”

 

Deciding no more needs to be said in front of the large crowd of people just  _aching_ for some drama to pick apart like the hungry vultures they are, Phil stalks past him, knowing that Charlie will follow. He walks across the lot towards the school’s side entrance and slips inside, not looking back until he’s reached the copy room, which is just by reception.

 

It’s the end of the school day, so he knows that it will more than likely be empty, and sure enough, it is. He steps inside, waiting for Charlie to catch up.

 

“Close the door.” Phil says in a stern voice as soon as Charlie enters.

 

Charlie chuckles, setting the posters down on top of one of the copiers. “Gosh, isn’t this dramatic? Are you going to have your wicked way with me in here at last?”

 

“Shut it.” Phil says again, and though he’s not talking about the door, Charlie obeys, sighing. Phil stares at him for a moment, expecting him to explain. “Well? What the fuck, Charlie?”

 

Charlie furrows his brows, acting as though he doesn’t understand. “What do you mean, Philly?”

 

Phil huffs a disbelieving laugh, gesturing at the stack of paper Charlie just put down. “What possessed you to start handing out posters for _our_ gig?”

 

“I was just being a good roadie.” Charlie says, shrugging with a smug nonchalance. Then, without warning, he steps closer to Phil, crowding him against the copy machine. “Getting your fans all riled up so they'd come out and see you.”

 

He winks, reaching out to pinch Phil’s side. Phil dodges out of his reach, pushing past him.

 

“None of us asked you to do that!” Phil exclaims. “Where did you even find those posters?”

 

Charlie sighs, leaning against the copier and folding his arms. “It was the one you chucked away. I made some copies.”

 

Phil blinks at Charlie in disbelief. “The one I _threw away_?” Charlie nods like Phil is being slow. “Charlie, can’t you see how insane that is? What, were you spying on me and Chris this morning? Digging through the bin to find out what we were talking about?”

 

“Well it’s not like you guys ever tell me anything that’s going on!” Charlie cries, sounding cross all of a sudden. “You’d think you’d tell your own _roadie_ that you had an upcoming gig – how am I supposed to know you didn’t want me to hand out posters if you never keep me updated-”

 

“Charlie, you are not our roadie!” Phil practically shouts, his anger getting the better of him.

 

Charlie falls silent, his face murderous. He says nothing, and Phil takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

 

“We never asked for a ‘roadie’, alright? We don’t need one.”

 

“Well, at the very least I’m your friend! I’m only trying to help you out, Phil-”

 

“Well, you aren’t.” Phil says coldly. “And friends don’t treat each other the way you treat me.”

 

Charlie barks a harsh laugh. “The way _I_ treat _you_?! What about the way you treat me? You never invite me to anything, you reject me, you avoid me like the plague whenever possible-”

 

Phil feels himself heating up again, his fingers clenching. “I’m not a bad friend just because I don’t fancy you, Charlie.” He notices Charlie flinch a little at hearing it spelled out, but he can hardly bring himself to care. “But getting me blind drunk so that I’ll tell you all about how I feel about Dan, and then going and making out with him is a pretty _shitty_ thing to do to someone you call your supposed friend.”

 

“I was trying to show you what a slut he is!” Charlie fires back, obviously snarling with hatred at the thought of him. It shocks Phil slightly, seeing Charlie so filled with loathing for Dan. “He’d cop off with anyone, Phil! I proved that, didn’t I? He’s boring and obsessed with his own image. He’s so self-hating that he’d probably suck off half the school if it meant they’d tell him he was alright after.”

 

“You’re sick.” Phil spits, wondering why he hasn’t noticed how crazed Charlie is before now. “Dan hasn’t even done anything. He doesn’t even know I like him!”

 

“Yeah, well that’s all gonna change soon, isn’t it?”

 

Phil freezes, his heart skipping a beat. “What?”

 

“Tell me, Phil.” Charlie says, smirking cruelly. He pushes himself off the copy machine and takes a slow step towards Phil. “What do you think sweet little Dan’s reaction would be if he found out just how badly you want him?”

 

Phil says nothing; he’s petrified of Charlie suddenly. He’s only just realised the power this boy has over him, considering all he knows.

 

Why the fuck did he divulge anything to Charlie at that party? Why didn’t he believe Chris and PJ when they told him of Charlie’s insane jealous streak?

 

Why didn’t he learn after what happened to Amanda?

 

“Do you think Dan would be glad to know that you think he’s… what was it that you said?” Charlie pretends to think for a moment, finger tapping his chin mockingly. “Oh yes, ‘ _deliciously_ _pretty_ '." Charlie laughs, and Phil blushes hard, remembering saying something along those lines whilst lost in a streak of tequila-flavoured honesty. "I believe the exact description you used was: ' _a juicy, unblemished fruit, perfectly ripe and sweet, begging for you to sink your teeth in'._ "

 

Phil swallows around the lump in his throat, his face feeling like it's on fire. 

 

“Fuck you.” Phil says softly, though he feels like he’s about to cry. "You manipulated me into saying that stuff. Got me wasted and pulled it out of me."

 

“Aw, don’t get all teary, Philly!” Charlie sings. He's still chuckling happily, loving this. “I think it's poetic. No wonder you're such a talented lyricist! And hey, even if some version of those words do get back to Dan somehow... you never know, he might be happy to hear them!”

 

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you thought that was even a remote possibility.” Phil says, his stomach plummeting to his knees. He can't quite believe this is happening. 

 

Charlie nods in faux sympathy. “True. If I thought there was any danger of Dan actually  _liking_ that cute little song you wrote about him, you wouldn't catch me handing out posters to come and watch you, that's for damn sure.”

 

Phil freezes, wide eyes locked on Charlie. He feels his heart stutter. “H-How do you know about the song?”

 

"Whoops!" Charlie exclaims, slapping a hand over his mouth, eyes sparkling. "Gosh, did I let that slip? It's just, when you and PJ and Chris refuse to keep me in the loop, I have to resort to... other measures to help you out."

 

Charlie digs into his back pocket and holds up a key. It's identical to the one hanging off Phil's Totoro keychain on his bag. 

 

"You _copied_ my locker key?! What the hell is wrong with you?!" Phil cries, eyes boggling. He's truly dealing with a maniac, here. 

 

"I only use it _occasionally,_ calm down. Just if I really need to find some information." Charlie grins, tucking the key away again. "And I sure did this time. It's an adorable song Philly, really. Such a shame Danny-boy won't agree. After all, it's a bit creepy to eavesdrop on someone at two in the morning and then make a secret love-confession song about them, isn't it?"

 

"Why are you saying this as if Dan's definitely going to find out?" Phil asks desperately, sick with the slow, creeping realisation of what Charlie is implying.

 

He knew that he'd left the lyrics to that song in his locker. What he'd failed to account for was the psycho who calls himself their roadie breaking into his locker and stealing them.

 

Charlie shrugs, smiling happily.

 

"I'm not gonna play the fucking song on Saturday now, alright?" Phil says desperately, now at the end of his tether. There's no use bargaining with a madman. It's better to just give him what he wants. "Not now that the whole school are gonna be there listening, thanks to your poster trick. So Dan never needs to know about any of it - the gig, the song, nothing." 

 

The smile spreading across Charlie's face is slow, creeping. He nods, and even that looks sociopathic. “Yeah, you’re probably right, Phil.” He says, the tone of his voice sending chills down Phil’s spine. “He’ll never know a thing.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dan feels eyes on him the second he walks into school on Friday. He overslept and missed the bus; the silence had been particularly difficult to dispel last night. So his Dad dropped him off before taking Adrian to school.

 

It hadn’t been so bad. His Dad asked annoying questions about Dan's social life, grades and lack of romantic partner, but at least he didn’t have to suffer the awkwardness of standing beside Phil at the bus stop.

 

At first, when Dan walks in, he thinks that the strange feeling of something off-kilter is just a result of his usual routine being interrupted, but he quickly realises that it's more than that. 

 

He’s used to more or less blending in to the crowd at this school. Louise says he’s imagining it and that everyone is always talking about him because of who he hangs out with or whatever, but he’s never found that to be true.

 

Most of the time he’s able to slink around where he chooses, drifting from acquaintance to acquaintance, keeping to himself, and nobody pays him much attention.

 

Today, in contrast, it’s like he can feel the gossip filling the air, making it thick and difficult to pass through. The moment he steps through the doors it's like wading through a treacle-ish swamp of half-heard whispers and pointed looks. It's easy to see, merely by the way people watch him, giggling, that something’s happened.

 

Something, presumably, to do with him.

 

He gulps, wondering what the hell it could be. His first big scandal at BRG. Well, he supposes it had to happen sometime. Maybe it's a second wave of that rumour that he and Louise are dating. That hadn't been so bad to handle actually. They'd both made a joke of it, playing up to people's suspicions by cooing dramatically at one another, and blowing theatrical kisses across the classroom. 

 

People had dropped that rumour pretty quickly. 

 

That means that it's probably something else. Something worse. 

 

He’s walking down the corridor towards his first class, and everyone he meets the eyes of either giggles, averts their gaze, or whispers to someone close by. Lots of them hold sheets of paper in their hands; Dan wonders if school reports are out today, because that’s what the papers look like from a distance.

 

It doesn't make sense, though. They’ve only been back at school a month or so; school reports aren't due for ages.

 

Keeping his eyes low, he walks determinedly towards his locker, ignoring everyone. The school bell rings, signalling the start of the day, and Dan is relieved. He continues ambling down the corridor, needing to collect his textbook before class, and he waits for the crush of people to surround him as everyone rushes to their destinations. But it doesn’t come.

 

Belatedly, he realises that nobody is moving.

 

He pauses mid-walk, looking around himself; everyone is staring at him. Panic flies through his entire being, threatening to choke him. He tries to breathe, raking his gaze over his entire body in case he's done something unforgivably cringey like come into school in his pyjamas, or brought in a My Little Pony backpack by mistake. 

 

It's ridiculous of course. He doesn't even own a My Little Pony Backpack, but that's what his insane mind conjures up to torture him. Dan's worst case scenario is apparently being thought of as a Brony. 

 

After a moment or two, he decides that the best course of action is to just speedily get away from this situation. So, he shifts his bag up his shoulder and power-walks to his locker. People watch him unashamedly as he goes; he feels their eyes sticking to him, hears their low, rumbling whispers.

 

Finally, he makes it to his locker, and lets out a breath of relief. He looks up, and blinks in surprise, face heating almost at once. There's something taped to his locker. A piece of paper, one that looks a lot like the ones everyone appears to be holding.

 

Dan is pretending that he can't feel everyone staring, even as he looks at the paper. It appears to be a school report, as he suspected. But there's something written on the back. Undoubtedly, this is some sort of joke, and Dan is on the receiving end of it. Whatever's written on the back of this paper is probably not going to be nice - it will be an attempted taunt. 

 

Well, Dan's lived in London, and he's pretty sure that the bullies here are no match for the ones at his old school. He knows how to deal with this kind of thing. You can't get upset, for starters. The only way to move the attention off of yourself is to acknowledge it, then laugh it off. So, trying his best to muster up an air of nonchalance, Dan plucks the piece of paper down and flips it over. 

 

At that second, however, he feels someone approach him. 

 

He whirls around on the spot, heart in his throat; too much late night CreepyPasta makes you extra paranoid about being snuck up on. It doesn't help with insomnia either, when you're in a perpetual state of half-checking every dark corner for Slenderman.  

 

Luckily for Dan, Slenderman hasn't decided to break out of his fictional dimension today, and instead Phil stands behind him, flanked by Louise, Chris and PJ. All of them look weirdly concerned, apart from Phil who looks terrified at the sight of him. 

 

"Oh, crap, you read it didn't you?" Phil asks in a pained voice. He turns to bury his face in Chris' shoulder.

 

Things are very, very quiet then. Dan has no idea how to respond, and he's too confused to do anything except watch Phil's bizarre reaction. Louise flicks her gaze anxiously between them, whilst everyone else looks on in rapturous excitement, clearly expecting something to 'go down'. 

 

If only Dan knew what the fuck was happening. The paper flutters in his grasp, reminding him of its presence. Dan looks down at it, but then he notices people beginning to talk in low, excited voices. 

 

 _“Has he read it?”_ Someone whispers. 

_“Has he seen it?”_ Someone else chips in. 

_“Why is Phil just standing there?”_

_“I dunno about Dan but I would straight up die if…”_

“Lou...?” Dan tries eventually, because clearly nobody else is going to break the silence - and he's never been good at letting it go on too long. Louise turns her full attention to him, watching him warily, as though he's a spooked animal. “What’s going on?”

 

“Dan, sweetie, why don't you give me that, and we'll all go somewhere to talk about this.” Louise tells him, taking a step towards him and holding out her hand for the paper. 

 

Dan glances down at the paper again. What the heck is on here? He's suddenly afraid to read it. Whatever this paper is, it must be pretty awful for everyone to be acting so fucking weird. He holds it up but doesn't look at it, he's too anxious. He stares at Louise, instead. "What is this?"

 

"So, you haven't read it, then?" She asks him cautiously. 

 

Phil's head lifts from Chris' shoulder then, a glimmer of hopefulness in his inhumanly blue eyes. "Have you?" 

 

"Oh my God, I swear if someone doesn't tell me what the fuck is going on..." Dan says, feeling the anger bubbling behind his own words.

 

"Why don't we go and talk somewhere private, okay?" Louise suggests again in a calm voice. "All of us." 

 

Dan isn't sure who she's referring to, but he suddenly feels overwhelmed with frustration. All around him, people are chattering, laughing, talking about him, and it's making him feel itchy all over. He wants to yell at them, to demand to know what they're gossiping about. Why should he be out of the loop if it's him that they're discussing?

 

"No." Dan says, a little louder than he means it to come out. Phil stares at him, his face tortured. "No, tell me what's going on. Right now." 

 

"Dan, don't." Phil begs him. His eyes are shiny and glinting. It catches Dan off guard; he's not used to having Phil this close. "Please."

 

His words, and the anger behind them, die on Dan's lips. One look into Phil's pained expression, those swirling, storm-blue irises, and the need to know everything drains away. He realises that he'd probably do anything Phil asked, just for his validation, and the thought alone scares him. 

 

"Oh for fuck's- he wrote a song about you, Dan!" Charlie shouts from somewhere Dan can't see. He freezes up, recognising the voice immediately, but not understanding the words. 

 

Dan feels a sharp, sickening twist in his stomach. His mouth goes dry, and he tenses, feeling everyone's eyes like they're burning holes in his skin. He flicks his gaze down to the paper in his hands, bringing it up to his face. His hands shake, but he can make out the message scribbled across the top in thick black sharpie: 

 

**A Song About Daniel Howell by Phil Lester! :D (Copies provided by Charlie Casey – you’re welcome)**

 

"It's a _great_ song, Phil!" Someone else chirps, laughter flavouring their shrill voice. "Funniest thing I've read in ages!" 

 

And then Dan realises, as he turns to sweep his gaze across the room - everyone is holding a copy of the same piece of paper. Everyone is reading this, his whole year group, the whole Sixth Form, the whole _school_. Each of them clutch their own personal copy of the lyrics to this song, and _oh God_ this is so much worse than he thought. 

 

"Yeah, Philly! Dan's a lucky boy. You really nailed him!" A third person shouts out, sounding farther away.

 

A raucous burst of laughter erupts throughout the corridor, and Dan swallows, tears burning his ducts. He shrinks from the voice, humiliation burning him from the inside out. His face is turning scarlet, and his whole body trembles. His grip loosens, and the paper falls from his hands. He brings them up to cover his face, mortified. 

 

He casts an incredulous look at Phil, who stares back, guilt and shame clouding his expression. 

 

“Dan..." Phil says desperately. "It’s nothing. It’s just a song.”

 

_Just a song?_

 

Something is definitely choking him now. He can feel its long, bony fingers tightening around his throat, blocking his airways, blurring his vision. His breaths get shorter, patchier. 

 

“Please, Dan, it's not what it looks like, okay?” Phil urges, stepping towards him a little, but Dan isn’t looking at him anymore.  

 

He takes a gigantic step sideways, away from the page that has fallen to the floor, away from Phil; he almost falls on his ass because he's so unsteady on his feet. He feels Louise reaching out for him in the next second, but he jerks away. His eyes lift to Phil, who biting his lip pretty hard, it looks like it might be hurting.

 

In a flash of anger that he can't seem to help, Dan hopes Phil's pointed, vampiric canines rip right through the soft flesh. 

 

He feels hot, angry tears brewing in his ducts, but he doesn't want to give Phil the satisfaction of seeing him cry. So, Phil wrote a little song, did he? About the pathetic lunatic next door who stays up until 2am drumming. The weird kid that prefers the voices of his favourite singers to actual conversation. The unkissable slut that whores himself out to anyone that gives him the time of day. 

 

Okay yeah, Dan gets it, he's  _perfect_ fodder for a funny, clever song. He's the butt of the joke and he understands why. But Phil had been  _nice_ to him. Phil had pretended like he thought Dan was actually okay. He'd acted so lovely, had actually made Dan  _want_ him - and then he goes and does this? 

 

Wow, interestingly enough, Charlie and Becky might have been right. Phil Lester really is a dick.

 

"Go to hell." Dan hisses at Phil, and then turns quickly before the tears spill, racing down the corridor and not stopping until he can't hear anyone's voices anymore. 

 

He hears a teacher shouting in the background as he goes, telling everyone to get to class immediately. Dan doesn't listen for long, and after a while, the teacher's voice has faded away too. 

 

When at last there is silence again, he feels it surround him, like normal. It's horrible, just like every time he's forced to be alone in the quiet, but for the first time it's actually preferable. He doesn't realise where he is until he sees his drumkit in front of him, and he starts a little, heart thudding. He's going to get in serious trouble for walking out of school, that's for damn sure. 

 

He walks over to his kit, sitting down and trying to remember how to breathe. The sticks warm in his hands, his foot finds its way to the pedal.

 

He smashes the first beat, and everything else falls away for a little while. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why did you do it, Charlie?!” Phil yells, the door opening to the full classroom with a loud crash.

 

Mr Bridgeman whirls round from the whiteboard, a mixture of surprise and fury on his face.

 

“Mr Lester! What on earth do you think you’re-”

 

“Answer me, Charlie!” Phil shouts, cutting Mr Bridgeman off mid-sentence.

 

Charlie, who is sitting in the back row, watching Phil with an amused expression, sighs.

 

“To show you that you can do better, Phil.” Charlie says calmly. "I told you Dan wasn't worth your time. I was right, wasn't I? Look at how he treated you! After you said all those _lovely_ things in your song-"

 

"Oh, go fuck yourself." Phil hisses. 

 

“Philip Lester, Charlie Casey,” Mr Bridgeman shouts, “this is _not_ the time or place for a bust up, now kindly-”

 

“You’re a sad, jealous, petty person.” Phil spits; Charlie begins to look angry. “I wish I’d never spoken to you.”

 

“Well, now Dan will wish he never spoke to you, either.” Charlie hisses back.

 

Phil feels his eyes start stinging.

 

“Philip, I won’t ask you again. Leave my classroom immediately!” Mr Bridgeman calls, his face red as he storms over to Phil.

 

“Yes, Sir.” Phil says quietly, catching Mr Bridgeman off guard. “I’m sorry for the disturbance.”

 

Before Mr Bridgeman can respond, Phil is turning and exiting the classroom. He vaguely hears his name being called as he walks away, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t realise that he’s walking home until he’s two miles from school and it starts to rain.

 

* * *

 

The knocking has been going on for around twenty minutes before Dan finally gets up from the sofa blanket fort he’s made himself in the living room to answer it.

 

He’d planned on watching shit TV at a high volume under his duvet in the lounge until he either fell asleep or was interrupted by his parents coming home. Unfortunately, whoever is at the door seems to have other ideas.

 

Exasperated, he wrenches the door open, eyes bloodshot and probably looking a mess.

 

A drenched, very cross-looking Louise is standing on his doorstep.

 

“I’m coming in, Howell.” She tells him, then forces her way inside, a small river of rain droplets flowing off her as she walks into his house.

 

“Lou, I’m not up for another DMC.” Dan tells her, exhausted. “I appreciate you coming to check on me, but I’m fine. I’ll give you a towel to dry off and then you should go.”

 

Louise rounds on him, her eyes blazing. “Oh, should I?” Dan looks a little surprised at her furious reaction. “Well, I see that your _lovely_ treatment of friends extends not only to Phil, but to me as well!”

 

Dan can’t comprehend Louise like this. She looks so far from the kind, put-together, sweet friend he knows.

 

She’s dripping wet, her mascara smudged around her eyes. Her long hair is sodden, the curls having long ago fallen out. It doesn’t even look as brilliantly blonde as it does usually – in the damp it has dulled to a mousey shade.

 

She regards Dan with anger, not her usual fond, lovely smile. In fact, standing here before him, dripping and seething with rage, she’s quite frightening to behold.

 

Dan takes a step back from her, trying to process what’s happening.

 

“ _Phil_?!” Dan repeats, disbelief in his voice. “You think _I_ was mean to _Phil?_ ”

 

Louise takes a bold step closer to him. “I don’t just think that, Daniel. I think you were a cruel, selfish little  _bitch._ ”

 

Dan laughs at her, astounded. “Have you gone insane? He’s the one that wrote a song about me!”

 

“Exactly!”

 

The cogs in Dan’s brain are grinding against one another in an attempt to figure out what’s happening.

 

“So, let me get this straight…” Dan says to Louise, his jaw twitching in annoyance. “Phil Lester writes a fucking song making fun of me, is prepared to sing it to the whole fucking school on Saturday at that gig, and instead of my close friend defending me and joining me in thinking what an asshole he is, she takes _his_ side?!”

 

Louise stares at him for a long time, her shoulders slowly releasing their tension as Dan’s words sink in.

 

After a long moment, she speaks. “You think Phil wrote a song... making fun of you?”

 

Dan looks at her like she’s insane. “Sorry, were you in a different butt-fuck-nowhere town high school this morning?” 

 

“Dan,” she whispers, shaking her head slowly, “oh, Dan you didn’t read it, did you?”

 

Dan looks away, rolling his eyes. He’s had enough of this. Out of all the things he needed right now, being told off by Louise for having a perfectly normal reaction to being humiliated in front of the school was not one of them.

 

He walks back over to the sofa, climbing back into his blanket fort. Louise follows, and climbs in too.

 

Dan glares at her. “You’re getting the covers all wet.”

 

“Sorry.” She says. She looks desperately sad and Dan can’t understand why. “I’m sorry for saying what I said, too.”

 

Dan shrugs, but internally forgives her. He doesn’t want to lose his closest friend after everything else that’s happened. Under the cover of the duvet, he reaches out and squeezes her hand.

 

“Dan, why didn’t you read the song?” Louise asks after a while.

 

Dan sighs, wishing they could stop talking about this. “Why would I put myself through that, Lou? Talented lyricist or not, I don’t particularly wanna know all the horrible things he said about me.”

 

“Why do you think Phil would write horrible things about you?” Louise asks, sounding bewildered.

 

Dan shrugs. Why isn’t she asking Phil that question if she’s so interested?

 

“Same reason lions take down weak, spindly-legged gazelles.” Dan mumbles in response. “I’m an easy target.”

 

“Oh, Dan-” Louise starts to say, but Dan interrupts her, holding up a hand.

 

He’s had enough pity.

 

“Louise, can we not?” He says sharply, and Louise stares at him sadly with those big, blue, Bambi eyes. “Look, I know I’m fucked up. I’m weird, okay, I know that. I play the frickin’ drums at two in the morning because I’m actually scared of the dark and the quiet. It’s pathetic, I’m well aware. I’m unmotivated, a loner, I’m untalented, shy to the point where I come off as a dick, so desperate for affection that I kissed fucking _Charlie-_ ”

 

“No,” Louise interjects, “Charlie kissed you as part of some insane way of getting back at Phil, and now he’s doing the same thing-”

 

“And to top it all off,” Dan interrupts, barely listening to her, “I’m a boring, self-deprecating loser who can’t stop feeling sorry for himself. Why the heck _wouldn’t_ you write a song about someone so lame?” Dan snuggles himself further into his duvet, blinking away tears. “I guess I just thought Phil was nicer than that, that’s all.”

 

“Phil is nicer than that.” Louise insists, moving closer to Dan beneath the covers.

 

She manoeuvres them so that they’re pressed together, and she winds her arm around his shoulders. It’s quite nice, if a little damp.

 

“Could’ve fooled me.” Dan mutters back, and Louise tuts.

 

After a while of staring at adverts on the TV, she turns to him, looking determined. “Come with me to the gig tomorrow.”

 

Dan mutes the television, turning to stare at her. “Are you insane?”

 

“Oh, come on.” She says, sounding kind of excited. “Look, if you honestly think that Phil deserves to be wrung out for writing that song, what better opportunity than tomorrow? The whole school will be there. And it's his big night." 

 

Dan shakes his head at her, wondering if she's lost it. “This isn't _90210_ , Lou. Nobody does shit like that in real life. What, do you want me to take the mic from him mid-song, deck him and then perform my own retaliation number?" 

 

Louise falls about giggling. "That's the dream, yeah." 

 

"Forget it. I'm not the confrontational type." Dan mumbles, looking back at the TV. "You may have noticed that when I bolted from the situation earlier at school to hide at home under my duvet." 

 

Louise laughs again, attempting to de-smudge her under-eyes. "Then I'll yell at him for you. _If_ you really think he deserves it." 

 

"Why do you keep saying 'if'?" Dan asks her, getting annoyed. "He's an asshole, okay? Of course I want you to yell at him."

 

“Does that mean you'll come?" Louise asks, pouncing on the opportunity. Dan rolls his eyes, not answering. "You need to at least _hear_ the song, Dan.” Louise presses. “How can you know he's awful if you haven't even heard it? Look, we can go there, get drunk, listen to his set, and if you still want to yell at Phil after that, I'll happily be your lungs.”

 

Dan contemplates this strange plan, unconvinced. He’s not really the ‘telling off’ type, normally. He’s more the ‘hide away until everyone’s forgotten’ kind of guy. His plan is to avoid Phil forever, or failing that, to send him little hurt looks now and again so that the guilt will drive him slowly mad.

 

He must admit though, it would be good to let Phil know exactly how much of a dick move he made, especially if there's an audience. Dan is hurt right now, and he wants justice for his pain. Also, as much as he hates to admit it, Louise is right about the other thing, too. 

 

If he's going to hate Phil forever - a laughable notion, truly, as he's well aware the reason he's feeling like a kicked puppy right now is because of how badly he's been crushing on the guy - then he needs to at least hear the song, in full. His brain does have a tendency to jump to the worst conclusions, after all. 

 

Dan sighs, shoulders sagging. “Okay, fine.”

 

“Yes!” Louise cries, throwing her arms around him. Long strands of her wet hair cling to his face and neck and he shrieks, pushing her off. 

 

This only prompts a laughing Louise to dangle more bits of it all over him, eventually using this tactic as a threat to make him go and get her tea and biscuits. 

 

About three cups of tea, four episodes of _Don't Tell The Bride_ , and one considerably moistened duvet later, Louise leaves. She yells "See you tomorrow!" on her way out, and the reality of that statement slaps Dan in the face as he remembers his agreement. 

 

Oh, fuck.  

 

* * *

 

 

They’re doing a sound check. It’s just as cool and professional as it sounds. If Phil were feeling less like the pile of crap he is, he would be awestruck by the proceedings. 

 

They’re all trying to play it cool and act as though they’ve done this a thousand times before, but Phil would bet it’s fairly obvious that they’re hopelessly naive about pretty much all of it.

 

Phil, PJ and Chris all turned up to Revolution at 3pm, each of them carrying a guitar, small amp and folded up mic stand. Chris’ dad had dropped them off. They'd strictly instructed him to be back to collect them no earlier than ten, and much later if he wanted.

 

As soon as they walked in to the place, they realised how out of their depth they were. They were shown into the basement room, which has a big stage, a proper lighting rig, a dancefloor and lots of booths and tables scattered about. There's also a bar at the back, which piques Phil's interest. He wonders if he can blag his way into getting served, considering he's technically working here tonight.

 

All of the other bands show up later than they do, all of them seeming way more relaxed and familiar with the routine of 'setting up'. They come armed to the teeth with roadies (the real kind) and boxes of cables, laptops with programmed light shows, and countless other pieces of equipment the likes of which the Tiny Planet Explorers have never laid eyes on before.

 

Phil, Chris and PJ try not to let it phase them. The sound technicians ask each band to run through their set so that they can adjust the levels and so that the bands can practise. The Tiny Planet Explorers are second on the bill, so they wait nervously, listening to the incredible performance of _The Misery Jets_ \- a synthesised British indie style band made up of five guys, all with man buns.

 

There's a round of applause from the other bands in the room when they finish their set, and this just makes everything more scary. Nobody is really paying much attention when Phil, Chris and PJ walk on stage to set up. All of the other bands sit in various places dotted about the room, talking amongst themselves, tuning their instruments. They all seem so at ease, Phil can't help but notice. 

 

Phil wonders again how obvious it is that he's totally new to all of this. 

 

A man in a 'Crew' t-shirt wanders over to them and asks if he should adjust the drum kit for them, and Phil has to explain that they don’t actually have a drummer, at present. He doesn’t mention that they never have, either.

 

The man looks slightly confused, but shrugs and leaves them to it. Then, once everything's plugged in and ready to go, they practise their set. They go through each of the songs they’ve chosen methodically, being cautious to get it right now, because they’re more than aware that in a new, unfamiliar place, they are capable of being total shit if they don’t rehearse.

 

Their first song is _Forever Train_ , then it’s _Oscar’s Hotel_ , then _Chuba Wup Wub_ , and finally _Crab Love._

 

At least, it would have been their final song, but once they've finished it, Phil turns to the others. Their songs, which he loves like children, are sounding boring and lifeless as he sings the words. It doesn't help that his audience are so unresponsive; they've barely received a glance from the other bands all the time they've been playing.

 

Phil has been feeling rough, but this is definitely not helping. He feels like his own emptiness is affecting the chances of their band, and he can only think of one way to fix it. Granted, he hasn't slept a wink, and this time it wasn't because of Dan's drumming. Phil doesn't know why, but Dan had stayed silent last night. Probably freaked out by the fact he now knows that Phil creepily listens through the wall. 

 

The look on his face when he'd read the lyrics to Phil's song, that was what had kept Phil awake last night.

 

As he watched Dan turn and flee from the scene yesterday, his words of hatred still hanging in the air, Phil's hope had abandoned him for good. He doesn't think he's had to endure a worse moment in all his life. 

 

But here he is, nonetheless. He's soldiering on, as PJ had told him he must. And now, since the whole school, including Dan, knows of Phil's pathetic feelings, he figures - what the hell? 

 

"Let's play the song." He says to PJ and Chris, both of whom have been watching him warily all day. 

 

Phil wonders what they think he's going to do. To be fair, he has been feeling a little reckless. Perhaps he should take advantage of being at rock bottom and do something insane. Try and crowdsurf tonight, get wasted and go out to Canal Street - the epicentre of Manchester's 'gay village'. Hell, maybe he should head over to North West News station, blag his way in by saying he knows Donald Pentland, and slag off the entirety of BRG by name, live on air.

 

Especially Charlie Casey, the prick. 

 

He probably won't do any of that though, realistically. 

 

"What?" Chris asks, sounding nervous. "You wanna play the song you wrote?"

 

"Yeah." Phil confirms with a shrug. He turns back to his mic, ignoring Chris and PJ's shocked reactions. "Let's put it at the end of the set list. A nice one to go out on." 

 

"Phil," PJ says cautiously from behind him. "Are you sure? Have you thought this through?"

 

Phil turns to give PJ a blank, unwavering stare. "Yes." His voice turns hard and bitter. "Everyone's got a copy of the lyrics now; they can all sing along." 

 

PJ swallows anxiously, glancing over at Chris, who shrugs. 

 

Phil makes a frustrated noise. "Look, it's my song alright? I know what I'm doing. You said you like it, so let's fucking play it!" 

 

"We're not saying we don't like it," PJ says in a voice far calmer than Phil's, "but if you play it, then the school's gonna go mad. Think of the fallout of this."

 

"Peej's right." Chris chips in. "You'll be BRG's front page news for weeks. 'Lovesick Loser Performs Song For His Crush'."

 

"Chris, fucking hell!" PJ cries, glaring at him. 

 

Chris shrugs. "That's nothing compared to what they'll really say." 

 

Phil makes another frustrated noise, turning from them both. "I don't fucking care." He says harshly. "They can think whatever they want. What do I care if they make up stupid lies about me? Dan already hates me, so what else have I got to lose here?"

 

There's a pause, and Phil doesn't turn around. He just waits, praying that they can end this pointless discussion. Eventually, he hears two sighs of resignation, and then Chris' gentle strumming. 

 

Phil breathes out a sigh of relief, and starts to sing. 

 

“ _I think I’m in love…_ ” Phil starts to sing, and the noise of the room begins to quieten.

 

To Phil's relief, this song doesn't feel so meaningless. But then again, how could it?

 

The other bands' conversations wind to a halt, drifting off mid-sentence, and the majority of them turn to watch as Phil sings, surprise on their faces. 

 

Phil barely notices the quiet falling around him at first, but as he continues to sing, it presses in on him. He flicks his gaze around the room, wondering what’s going on, whether he should stop singing and find out the cause of the sudden silence.

 

He doesn’t, but he casts a confused look at Chris and PJ, who shrug at him, clearly just as bewildered. 

 

The song isn’t very long, and once it ends, the silence is even more noticeable. Then, after a drawn out pause, the room erupts into applause. It's far louder than the hand that The Misery Jets had received before them. Someone even whistles enthusiastically, stunning Phil into a motionless, blank stare. 

 

Realising that these people are clapping because they like the song, Phil blushes, marvelling at the reaction his silly, pathetic words about Dan have elicited.

 

“Dudes, that was sick!” A guy with a shaved head and cheek piercings shouts. His white tank top reads ‘Wonderwall Killers’. which Phil recognises as one of the band's names. 

 

The rest of his band make noises of agreement, thumping on the table they're clustered around excitedly. 

 

A girl in a long, white floaty dress approaches the stage then, smiling; the flower crown perched atop her dark hair catches Phil's attention. 

 

“Which one of you wrote that?” She asks dreamily, clutching the tambourine she holds to her chest. “It was so _lovely._ ”

 

Phil blushes further, and Chris laughs. It's the first time any of them have laughed all day, he realises, and feels guilty for it. This is supposed to be a good, happy time, and he's bringing the band down. 

 

“Phil did.” PJ says into the microphone, his voice brimming with pride. “He’s a big old softie.”

 

“It was beautiful.” The tambourine-girl says wistfully, closing her eyes and swaying about as though she could still hear it. “You can hear the sorrow and heartache in your voice.”

 

“Um, thanks.” Phil says dismissively, trying to ignore the sharp stab of pain her words introduce. He turns away from the mic, embarrassed.

 

"I hope he appreciates it." She calls to Phil as he starts removes the guitar strap from his shoulder.

 

He turns to her, confused. "Who?"

 

She smiles at him, eyes sparkling. "Him. The one the song's about."

 

Phil presses his lips together, and walks off stage without another word. 

 

* * *

 

There’s a queue outside the venue. Standing in it, shivering, with Alfie, Zoe, Hazel, Cat, Felix and Louise at his side, Dan wonders what the hell he's doing here. Half the queue is made up of people from their school year, all of whom gasp and whisper excitedly at the sight of him. Yes, he says to each of them internally, it's me, the one Phil Lester has decided to mortify in the form of song.  

 

Aside from BRG students however, there are a lot of other people. It surprises Dan somewhat, as he regards the amount of trendy youths waiting patiently in line. Phil’s band must be good, he realises. More than good, to get in somewhere with this much of a dedicated following.

 

After all, it's freezing. These people wouldn't be queuing up in this weather if they thought the gig was going to be shit. 

 

Not to mention, there’s a £5 entry fee on the door. A fact that Louise had tactfully left out when persuading Dan to come here tonight. She'd also forgotten to mention that the whole of their friendship group would be coming along for the ride. 

 

Thankfully, they've all been very nice to Dan. None of them (apart from Louise of course) have even mentioned the horrific events of yesterday, which is a blessing. 

 

As the others in their group chatter amongst themselves, Dan and Louise huddle together for warmth, breathing on each other's hands and distracting themselves by singing Disney songs. Partially delirious from the cold, Dan's mind wanders to the thought of watching Phil on stage. Half of him is dreading it, of course. Phil's going to sing a song that humiliates him, and Dan will inevitably be too chicken-shit to say anything. He'll just cower in the corner, taking every insult Phil throws into the mic. The other half of Dan, however, is alive with an electric thrill every time he pictures Phil up on stage.

 

It seems that despite the fact he knows that Phil Lester is a dick, it does nothing to quell the deeply-rooted attraction he harbours for the boy. In fact, he's a little unsure whether he'll be able to handle watching Phil rock the crowd tonight. Sexy frontmen in rock bands just _do_ something to him. Dan can just tell that he's going to have some kind of embarrassing reaction, and won't that just make the whole scenario ten times better? 

 

"Oh Christ," Dan groans as they near the entrance, "this was a terrible idea." 

 

Nevertheless, he digs into his jeans pocket for his wallet. 

 

"Oh, give it a rest, Dan." Louise says, rolling her eyes at him. She flashes her ID at the bouncers taking the money, grinning. "If you stop sulking, you might actually have fun. Fancy that!"

 

Dan does the same, and sighs as they pull him, Alfie, Hazel, Zoe and Cat aside to mark a big red 'x' on the back of each of their hands. It's their way of signifying that these people are underage, and shouldn't be served at the bar. Luckily for Louise, hers and Felix's birthdays have already been. 

 

“Pretty sure my tits are frozen solid.” Louise hisses to everyone once they're past the bouncers.

 

"Same." Zoe agrees, teeth chattering as she clings onto Alfie's arm. "Thanks for lending me your jacket, Alf."

 

Zoe peels off the jacket, handing it to Alfie with a coy smile, and the other girls proceed to do the same, removing their various coats and jackets, revealing their glam outfits one by one. Louise, who is perhaps the most glamorous in the group, removes her own silver coat with a touch of theatricality, Dan can't help but think. Underneath, she wears a sparkly, rather tight gold top with a noticeable plunge cut down the front. 

 

Dan and Alfie politely avert their eyes, though Felix seems entirely oblivious to this etiquette.

 

"Yowza, Lou." Felix exclaims, laughing as he stares unashamedly down her top. "You almost had my eye out with them."

 

She smacks him in the arm, but doesn't seem particularly bothered by the attention. Zoe and Hazel link arms with her, whispering compliments in her ear. Dan doesn't quite know where to look, so he focuses on shrugging off his own plain black 'dementor' coat. As they join the short queue for the cloakroom, Dan can't help but notice how everyone who passes them seems to glue their eyes to Louise's cleavage. Louise, if she notices, doesn't seem particularly bothered. 

 

"Remind me why I let you talk me into this?" Dan asks her, glancing mournfully back at the exit. 

 

Louise rolls her eyes again and shoves him in the shoulder. "Enough, Daniel. Are you gonna bitch all night and let this Phil stuff get to you, or are you gonna laugh it off, have a drink with us and have a good night?" 

 

"That's definitely my plan." Cat says, grinning as she reaches the front of the queue and hands over her leather jacket. 

 

Dan pouts a little, but accepts that the latter option Louise gave does sound more appealing.

 

"Fine." He says, sighing. He and Louise hand their coats in together; Dan deposits the small token they receive in exchange into the back pocket of his jeans. "I can't have a drink with you, though."

 

Louise turns to him, puzzled. "Why the hell not?"

 

Dan holds up his left hand, wiggling the fingers at her. "I've been marked."

 

Louise snorts a laugh, and takes him by the hand as they walk in a group towards the stairs leading down to the basement room. "Oh, Danny. Do you think I wore this top just to see you and Alfie squirm with discomfort?" 

 

Dan doesn't get what she means, but he rolls with it, following her into the dimly lit, sprawling underbelly of the club. The thumping of music and chatter gets louder as they descend, and soon the narrow staircase opens up into a vast space, teeming with people, all of whom surround the wide stage at one end. 

 

A professional-looking light show flashes onto the band, and spills out over the crowd gyrating on the dancefloor beneath it. Washes of colour in blue and green sweep over the room, giving it an eerie, underwater vibe. Some of the audience are crammed into booths, or squashed around large round tables, though most stand - either on the dancefloor itself, or in various spots around the room.

 

"This looks amazing!" Zoe exclaims, saying what everyone is thinking. "So professional!" 

 

After a cursory glance about, Dan notices the bar at the back of the room, which lots of people appear to have noticed too - including Louise.

 

“Aha. Time for drinkies, methinkies.” Louise says into Dan’s ear, flashing him a wicked grin. 

 

Dan blinks at her, wondering if she doesn't understand the meaning behind the big red cross on his and the others' hands. He opens his mouth to explain, but finds the words die in his throat as Louise shoves her hand inside her top, hoisting her boobs into position. She pulls down her top as much as it can go before - surely - her boobs would actually make a break for it, and then, once satisfied, she winks at Dan. 

 

Bewildered, and slightly flustered, Dan watches as Louise stalks over towards the bar, leaving him and the others behind without a second glance. They stare after her, slightly awestruck.

 

"Watch this, Dan." Felix says with a smile, nudging him in the side. "You're about to witness a master manipulator of the male species at work."

 

Sure enough, as Dan watches Louise, people actually seem to part for her as she makes her way to the back. Every man in her vicinity seems so fixated on her breasts that they become oblivious to anything else. 

 

She reaches the bar, pushes her way to the front, and immediately catches the eye of the bartender. A quick exchange is had between them, lasting no longer than two minutes, and then she's making her way back over to the group, two drinks held firmly in her hands. She thrusts one at Dan, taking a large gulp from her own. 

 

"What, we don't get drinks?!" Felix asks her, sounding annoyed.

 

"I got everyone a free round last time we went out." Louise replies, shrugging. "You're eighteen. It's your turn."

 

"But you get them free!" Felix protests, gesturing at her cleavage. "Besides, you got one for Dan!" 

 

Louise tuts at him, annoyed. "It's not my problem that you don't have the flirtation skills to procure free alcohol, Felix. And you know full well that Dan hasn't reaped the benefits of the twins here yet, unlike the rest of you." 

 

Dan is perplexed for a moment - did Louise just refer to her own boobs as 'the twins'? 

 

Felix rolls his eyes, muttering something about breasts being wasted on certain people, and then stalks over to the bar, followed closely by Zoe, Alfie, Cat and Hazel, none of whom seem particularly bothered by any of the proceedings. 

 

"Um..." Is all Dan can say after witnessing that spectacular scene unfold. 

 

Louise glances at him, then laughs at his expression. "Most of the time these are a pain," She says, grabbing hold of each boob in turn, "but now and again they come in handy." She winks at Dan, giggling. "Don't worry about paying me back, sugar. These were on the house."

 

Well, fuck. He takes a sip of his drink.

 

Rum and coke, his favourite.

  

 

* * *

 

 

Phil’s knee jiggles nervously as The Misery Jets' last incredible song filters into the green room from out on stage. He’s sat on a threadbare sofa beside Chris and PJ, anxiously awaiting their turn to go and perform to the – considerably larger than expected – crowd.

 

The venue has kindly cast a blind eye towards the fact that Phil and his bandmates are underage, and has provided them with a free drink each. Phil sips his beer, wincing a little at the taste, but grateful for the slight calm it’s bringing him.

 

“What if they hate us?” Phil hisses quietly to the others, wanting to keep his voice low so that the other bands don’t hear his concerns.

 

PJ glances across at Phil. “They won’t.”

 

“Besides, it’s not like we know anyone here.” Chris says, smiling happily and taking a glug of beer. “If we fail, we do it in secret.”

 

PJ hits Chris in the arm. "Are you forgetting that the whole fucking school knows we're playing tonight?" 

 

"Oh, yeah." Chris says, grinning as he rubs his arm. "Whoops! Guess it'll be a public flop then."

 

PJ hits him again, in the same spot.

 

Just then, the unmistakeable speaking voice of The Misery Jets’ lead singer, Shane, bursts through the speakers in the green room.

 

“Thanks for coming, everyone! We’ve been The Misery Jets. See you next time!”

 

A round of applause bursts through the speakers, though it needn't have. The roar of the crowd would have been audible from the next town over, Phil is sure. 

 

Oh, God. Phil swallows audibly, his stomach flipping. It’s time.

 

“C’mon fellas!” Chris cries excitedly, annoyingly lacking in any nerves whatsoever.

 

He jumps up and downs the rest of his beer, setting the plastic cup down before belching loudly. PJ makes a noise of disgust, but gets up too, and Phil supposes he has no other choice but to follow them. He’s read the order of bands a hundred times; he knows that they’re next up.

 

Cautiously, he gets to his feet, suddenly feeling like this is all a terrible idea. Who knows how many of their classmates have turned up thanks to Charlie and his dumb idea to hand out posters? What will people say after they hear Phil playing that song? If it gets back to Dan - which it almost definitely will - would the knowledge that Phil actually played the song _live_ make Dan hate him more?

 

He feels his stomach lurching at the thought.

 

He grabs hold of PJ’s wrist. “Peej, I don’t know if I can do it.”

 

PJ stops for a moment, frowning at him. “Do what? Sing?”

 

“Yes.” Phil replies urgently, his heart pounding so loudly it’s making the blood roar in his ears. “Dan... he fucking hates my guts and this is only gonna make it worse... I just- ugh.”

 

PJ sighs and takes Phil aside, motioning for Chris to go on and start setting up on stage. He places a gentle hand on Phil’s shoulder, and looks him in the eye.

 

“Hey, c'mon Phil, I haven’t seen you like this before.”

 

“I know, I know, I’m just so nervous and I can’t stop thinking about-”

 

“No.” PJ interrupts. “I don’t mean that. I mean I haven’t seen you so hung up on someone before.”

 

Phil shrugs, face heating a little. "That's... that's not what this is about-"

 

“Crap, you really are in love with him, aren’t you?” PJ asks, his serious expression making Phil shift from foot to foot. "It's not just a cute song."

 

He doesn’t think he can verbally respond to PJ’s question, so he just nods, looking away. It’s pathetic, he knows, because he barely even knows Dan, not to mention the guy hates him and told him to go to hell. He won't lie to PJ, though. He's known him since they were toddlers in playgroup together, when Phil kidnapped PJ's playdough magic unicorn and held it hostage at the summit of Mount Phillion (the climbing frame).

 

The love he feels for Dan is nonsensical. It's confusing and weird and practically impossible to understand. But it feels like it's always been there somehow, like he gets Dan completely, accepts him wholly, and simply wants to slot into his strange, insomniac life and hopefully make it better somehow. The love inside of him, it doesn't feel _new,_ it feels like it's been buried within him for his whole life, and the first beat of Dan's drums stirred it into life, Jumanji-style. 

 

He wonders sometimes if, in another, parallel world, he and Dan are married, or soulmates, or entwined in some mad, fated way. In this life, however, Phil thinks mournfully, it's obviously not to be. 

 

“Then what have you got to lose?” PJ asks, breaking Phil out of his inner spiral of thoughts. Strangely, the words seem to sink into Phil's skin, suddenly seeming like the answer to everything. 

 

What  _has_ he got to lose here? The only risk is of Dan hating him more, but as he already can't stand Phil... would that really be a risk at all? 

 

“Do you think writing that song was a dumb thing to do?” Phil asks after a while, his voice small.

 

“Probably.” PJ answers, smiling mischievously. "But who wants to live their life never doing dumb stuff?" 

 

Phil stares at PJ like he's mad, then dissolves into laughter. "Right. Thanks? I think."

 

"C'mon, you've got a crowd to rock." PJ says, his eyes glinting as he places his hands on Phil's shoulders and steers him through the door. 

 

Phil takes a deep breath, surrendering himself to the unfolding events of tonight, and steps out onto the garishly lit stage. 

  

* * *

 

 

Louise's 'special' tactics not only procure she and Dan free drinks, but also manage to get all of them seats at a table near the back of the room, close to the bar and mercifully far from the stage. They are, of course, forced to cram onto said table with a group of hipsters, many of whom try and fail to engage Louise and the other girls in conversation. Cat and Hazel converse with them happily, whereas Louise ignores each of them, brushing off their compliments with pointed, mocking comments about their beanie hats and goatees.  

 

Eventually they stop trying, retreating back into their dull conversations about craft beer and the French New Wave. Alfie and Zoe are engrossed in intimate conversation as ever, and Felix is having a great time pretending to join in with the hipsters' boring chat, whilst teasing them mercilessly in a way that's subtle enough to confuse them. 

 

Dan watches all of this amusedly, now on his second free drink of the evening, which is doing its best to loosen him up and calm the roiling nerves in his stomach. This time he has a mojito, and honestly he has never tasted anything so incredible. He tries to chat with Louise normally, but his heart has been racing since they first walked in, and no matter how hard he tries to look her in the eye, his gaze wanders back to the stage every few seconds. The Misery Jets just finished their set, and according to the gig posters taped all around the room, Phil's band are next to perform.  

 

Dan wonders what Phil will be wearing, and then quickly berates himself for even caring about that.

 

"Earth to Dan?" Louise's voice filters through Dan's frantic thoughts. "Are you actually listening to me?"

 

"Huh? Oh, um, yeah. Of course." Dan lies, slipping his mouth over the straw in his mojito. 

 

"Ok, what was I talking about?" 

 

"Um," Dan flounders, eyes darting about for some inspiration. "The aesthetics in here?" 

 

Louise punches him in the arm, and he yelps. "I was trying to make you feel better, you jerk!" She sighs, frustrated, and flicks her hair over her shoulder, inadvertently into the face of some guy in horn-rimmed glasses, sat behind her. "I was saying how there aren't as many people from school here as I thought there'd be."

 

"Oh, right, right." Dan says, nodding as he scans the audience. He's not sure he'd agree with her, honestly. It seems to him that half of the people in here are BRG students. "At least Charlie's not here, I guess."

 

"Guess again." Louise says with a grimace, nodding towards a far corner of the room. 

 

Dan turns to look, and his heart stutters. There, in the corner, a group of kids their age lurk under a large speaker. One of them is quite obviously Charlie, glaring at the stage with an intense look of hatred, waiting for the moment that the Tiny Planet Explorers stroll on. As though he can sense Dan's eyes on him, Charlie turns to catch Dan's gaze.

 

A split second of mutual staring is had between them, and then Charlie smirks at him, cruelly, lifting his bottle of beer in a salute. Dan's teeth grit together, and he turns at once, slinking down in his seat a short way. 

 

"Oh, fuck him." Louise says, lifting her middle finger to the corner where Charlie stands. 

 

Dan grabs her wrist and stops her, but probably not before Charlie saw. "Don't! You'll only make him hate me more." 

 

"So what?" 

 

"Im sorry, have you been asleep for the past few weeks?" Dan asks Louise in a sharp voice. "You've seen what he's done. He's a crazy person, Louise!" 

 

For some reason, Louise wears a smug, satisfied expression after Dan says this. "So you can see it." 

 

"I'm not fucking blind! He's _insanely_ jealous of people that aren't him getting anywhere near Phil." Dan snorts, sipping more mojito. "I mean, he actually thought  _I_ was enough of a threat that he made sure I became a laughing stock." 

 

"Did you ever consider that maybe you  _are_ a threat?" Louise asks, placing her empty glass down and reaching casually across the table to grab an almost full beer that a guy wearing a plaid scarf is nursing. 

 

"Oh, uh, that's actually mine-"

 

"Oops, I'm _so_ sorry. Would you mind if I just have a sip? I'm so thirsty. My drink was basically all ice." Louise simpers, leaning forwards and batting her false lashes.

 

Dan snorts again. 

 

"Oh... um, yeah. Of course. You have it, I'll get another." Scarf-boy says, his face softening at once. He slides out of his seat, stumbling slightly as he makes his way over to the bar. 

 

Louise smiles and wiggles her fingers at him as he leaves, then turns back to Dan, the flirty-smile vanishing instantly as she rolls her eyes. 

 

"Are you seriously asking me that, Lou?" Dan asks, resuming their conversation. 

 

"Yes, I seriously am." She says, swallowing a mouthful of beer. Dan just looks at her, rolling his eyes. Here comes a Louise-lecture, he thinks. "Dan, you have to stop thinking of yourself so negatively." She says, her big blue eyes catching hold of his. "The fact that you believe Phil Lester, actual angel bean, wrote a song about you being a loser says everything about how you see yourself. I know I joke about you and I being socially inept idiots but you're _not_  the butt of a joke, Dan. Phil's song isn't what you think it is, it's-"

 

Just then, the crowd lets out a cheer, and Dan looks up at the stage, forgetting Louise entirely. Chris walks on first, grinning away at the room as though he's done this a thousand times. He gives a two-fingered salute as he heads across to plug his bass guitar into an amp.

 

Dan feels his hands grow clammy, and he places his mojito down carefully, not wanting it to slip out of his hand and shatter right as Phil walks on stage. Around a minute ticks by, wherein Chris adjusts the mics, eyes flicking towards the wings of the stage every so often, as though he too is wondering where on earth his bandmates are.

 

"Something's wrong." Dan says instinctively, heart in his throat. "They should all be on stage by now."

 

The audience murmur quietly, all of them wondering the same thing. Louise laughs suddenly, the sound of it out of place in the hushed, confused atmosphere. Dan, along with a few other people, turn to look at her, bewildered. 

 

She leans in close to Dan and whispers: "Getting worried, groupie?"

 

Dan flushes at once, and glares at her. "Not funny, Lou."

 

"Sorry,  _Phil's_ groupie." She corrects, giggling. 

 

"I am  _not_ Phil's 'groupie'." Dan snaps at her, though this only seems to amuse her further.

 

"Oh, right. Just his muse, then?" 

 

Dan is seconds away from pouring the icy slush that is the remains of her mojito down her exposed cleavage, but right then, PJ strolls onto the stage, followed closely by Phil.

 

Louise squeals and grabs Dan's knee, squeezing tightly. “There they are! Ooh, they look good.”

 

"Right?! Check out PJ's bum in those jeans." Cat chips in from her seat beside Louise, giggling. She lets out a wolf-whistle, and Dan cringes.

 

"Phil looks pretty hot too, huh Dan?" Louise asks with a mischievous lilt in her voice.

 

Dan nods distractedly at her, barely even hearing what she’s saying at this point. Every spare inch of his attention is focused on Phil, who wears a nervous expression, despite looking exactly as gorgeous as ever. There are dark circles under his eyes, highlighted by the purplish stage-lighting. This isn't unusual, by any means, as Dan is well aware of how little sleep Phil tends to get - but this time he doesn't know the cause. He didn't play his drums last night. He was too miserable to do anything except stay in his sofa fort watching the late night shopping channel until he passed out from exhaustion.

 

Phil's wearing skinny jeans, as ever, teamed with what is possibly the coolest t-shirt Dan has ever seen, though that might be the mojito talking, in part. It's black with a blue-green galaxy print, and just below Phil's ribcage is a picture of a cat shooting lasers out of its eyes.

 

"Fuck's sake," Dan mutters under his breath, "this is exactly the kind of awesome nerdy thing which made me like you in the first place." 

 

"What was that?" Louise asks, turning to Dan. 

 

"Nothing." 

 

Dan fixates his attention back on the stage, watching in awe as Phil's long fingers grip the slender neck of metallic silver guitar slung around his shoulders. Dan bites his lip, unable to suppress the urge within him. It's as though Phil has tapped in to his every weakness, and is flaunting those weaknesses up on stage in front of the whole damn room. 

 

This would all be so much easier if Phil wasn't the literal embodiment of Dan's every fantasy. 

 

After a moment of conferring with PJ at the side of the stage, Phil turns to Chris, nods at him in confirmation, and then walks to the microphone stand at the front.

 

Dan’s heart leaps into his throat.

 

So Phil’s the lead singer, then. He hadn't known for sure, though he'd kind of assumed that was the case. It's not that PJ and Chris aren't charismatic in their own way, but Phil has a _presence_ about him. He exudes that frontman charm in the way he talks and stands, drawing attention to his quirks, his wit, his good looks. 

 

As soon as Phil reaches the microphone, he seems to relax slightly. It's clearly a familiar spot for him to be in, and Dan watches in silent admiration as Phil's muscles relieve themselves of tension, as his practiced hands adjust the stand, bringing the microphone towards his full, coral lips. 

 

“Hi, guys.” Phil says into the mic, smiling as he tosses his sleek fringe out of his eyes.

 

The stage lights reflect off his round, azure eyes, which means the poor guy probably can't see a damn thing from up there. That's probably a blessing though, to be honest, Dan thinks. He's not sure what Phil's reaction would be if he saw Dan sitting in the audience, but he probably wouldn't love it.

 

“We’re the Tiny Planet Explorers." Phil continues, gesturing to Chris and PJ behind him, who both wave. "I know what you're thinking... where the hell is our drummer?" Phil laughs, his tongue poking out of his mouth slightly in what is possibly the most adorable way Dan has ever seen. The audience laugh too, warmed instantly by Phil's happy, soft demeanour and humour. "Long story short - we killed him and stuffed him in the trunk of one lucky audience member's car. If you find him you win a live whale and unlimited doughnuts."

 

Dan splutters with laughter, directing it into his drink so that Louise doesn't get too smug.

 

"Anyway, thanks for coming, every penny we earn tonight goes towards our next magical quest." Phil says with a smile. "Our first song is called _Forever Train_.”

 

The crowd, laughing and jubilant after Phil's funny introduction, let out a loud cheer, and then they begin playing.

 

Dan's eyes widen almost immediately. Louise had been right to sing their praises, they are clearly a talented bunch. Even without a drummer, they're perfectly in time, and each guitar riff has its own carefully worked out melody, threading with the others to create a fun, pop-rock ballad. Phil’s voice is low as it slides prettily over the tune; he sings about unknown destinations, lost tickets, glowing luggage and mysterious happenings. It's all nonsensical, practically gibberish, but if you pay attention, the hidden meaning is clear:

 

A traveller on an unknown path into the future, his sense of purpose lacking, clinging to something from his past that at first seems troublesome, but ends up saving him.  

 

Phil's voice is gorgeous, and Dan almost groans at the sound of it. He'd been hoping that at the very least Phil might be a horrendous singer, and that way he'd be able to stay angry at the guy, but of course it's low, smooth and seductive. Like a drop of milk curling into rich, thick coffee. Or pale, delicate fingers plunging into a dark jar of viscous molasses. He stays within a certain range, but occasionally he’ll reach up an octave or two, so easily that it stuns those who can hear it.

 

"Fuck, he's good." Dan whispers, and this time Louise hears him. 

 

She grins at him, sipping her stolen beer. "I told you."

 

They play four songs in total, each as good as the one that preceded it. By the end of the set, Dan is slightly hard, extremely nervous about hearing the upcoming final song, and quietly miserable with the unfairness of life. Why is it that the world dropped him right next to this perfect specimen, made him everything Dan could want and more, but so cruelly unattainable? Even if that damn song had never been written, Phil could never look at Dan the way he aches for him to. He's amazing, Dan thinks as he watches Phil glide casually across the stage, damp from exertion and the heat of the stage lights. 

 

He smiles out at the crowd blindly. "Thanks a lot for coming out, everyone. You've been a great crowd."

 

A cheer erupts around the room, with several people adding heartfelt whoops and whistles - mostly the BRG kids, though lots of the older audience members look impressed, too.

 

Almost as soon as Phil stops speaking, Cat leans over towards Louise, her eyes alight with excitement. "It's not over, right? He's got to play..."

 

She trails off, casting a wary glance at Dan, as if only just remembering his presence. Dan resists the urge to scowl at her; it's so obvious what she was about to say. _I know_ , he wants to tell her, I know that you only came along tonight to hear Phil sing that stupid song, just like every other BRG student in here. She doesn't have to pretend like she actually cares about Dan, or came here to support him. 

 

Louise rolls her eyes at Cat. "I don't know, do I? Maybe they cut it from their setlist." 

 

"Unlikely." Alfie pipes up, his arm around a tipsy-looking, pink-cheeked Zoe. Louise shoots him a glare, which Dan doesn't miss. "What? Come on, sorry Dan, but that song is why there's such a huge crowd here tonight. It'd be stupid not to sing it at this point. The controversy alone could skyrocket them popularity-wise-"

 

"Oh, give it a rest, Alf." Felix interrupts, throwing a scrunched up beer bottle label at him to shut him up. 

 

Dan sends Felix a surprised but grateful look. Felix nods at him distractedly, clearly bored by the whole topic. Dan decides to move his attention elsewhere for now - the band are huddled together on stage, apparently taking some kind of break, and Dan needs to distract himself so that he isn't driven mad by the anticipation of hearing that fucking song played live in front of everyone he knows. 

 

His eyes rove around the room, meeting the unsubtle gazes of his peers as they glance his way, whispering animatedly about what's about to occur. He spots Charlie again, in that same spot under the speaker, watching Phil with a rabid, hungry expression, like a vulture zeroing in on its prey. 

 

It's difficult for Dan to completely understand Charlie's motives, at this point. Honestly, he's not even sure Charlie would know if asked. It seems as though his obsession with Phil has bubbled over into a hatred for him. As if Phil's prolonged rejection of Charlie's advances has pushed him into acting maniacal, wanting to hurt and embarrass Phil however possible. 

 

As Dan sees it, Phil wrote a pretty nasty song about someone he thought would never find out. People in bands do that all the time. How many Fall Out Boy songs could Dan name that are about evil, cheating, nameless girls and their lovers? At least twenty, Dan is sure. Phil isn't any better than Pete Wentz or Patrick Stump in that regard. But then, incensed by his own jealous rage, Charlie published the lyrics of Phil's song, along with who it's about, and spread them around the whole school, turning Phil into a hateful, cruel bully.  

 

That's a malicious thing to do to a person, Dan thinks, staring at Charlie. Especially to someone you supposedly care about. He must be relishing this night then, Dan thinks, he must be impatient for the moment when Phil will sing that song live, and solidify his new reputation as a nasty, vindictive tyrant. 

 

The thing is, Dan knows this isn't true of Phil. No matter what he may have done, Phil Lester is by no means an inherently mean person. Dan would swear his life on that, and he's only spoken with Phil a handful of times. Sure, he's angry with Phil, and the fact he wrote this song is hurtful, but nobody is a saint, and Phil probably thought that Dan would never know. 

 

Whatever's in the song, Dan is willing to bet that Phil doesn't deserve to be labelled a bully for the rest of his BRG education. 

 

Once this is all over tonight, Dan resolves to tell Phil that he forgives him. He'll tell everyone that Phil is forgiven. Then, with any luck, everyone can move past this. It won't be a moment too soon, either. 

 

Dan turns his attention back towards the stage, where Phil, Chris and PJ are still huddled together, obviously in the midst of a frenzied whisper-exchange. They must be talking about the song, Dan thinks. What else could be keeping them from playing it? Perhaps they're debating whether or not it's the right thing to do. 

 

"What's the hold up?!" A voice shouts, making Phil look up, astonished. Dan turns towards it too, though he recognises the voice immediately; it's Charlie, of course. "Get on with it, boys! We all know what we came here to hear, now play it! Or are you pussying out?" 

 

Phil's mouth sets into a hard line, and he glares down at Charlie. It looks intimidating from where Dan's sitting, and he's not the one on the receiving end of it. 

 

"Enough, Charlie." Phil says firmly, only just audible because he's not speaking into the microphone. "This won't work."

 

"What're you on about, Phil?" Charlie asks loudly, rolling his eyes in a theatrical manner. "We just wanna hear your cute little song. Right, everyone?" 

 

Charlie turns towards the rest of the standing crowd, the majority of which are BRG students. They let out a shout of affirmation. He grins at them all gleefully, then turns back to Phil, folding his arms and sticking his chin out in defiance. 

 

"No." Phil says with a quiet vehemence. 

 

"Aw, come on Philly, we're all so excited!" Charlie replies almost at once, then pulls a girl standing nearby to him closer. She's holding her phone in front of her face, smiling excitedly. "Hanna here is even gonna film it so that we don't miss a second!" 

 

Phil stares for a moment, his teeth gritted. All of a sudden, something seems to click into place; his shoulders relax, his eyes narrow, and then, strangely, he smiles. "Wow. I can't believe you're this mad that I didn't write a song about  _you,_ Cha. This is pathetic." 

 

A loud chorus of 'ooooh's' echo throughout the room, and Charlie flushes scarlet, his frown deepening.

 

Dan stares at Phil, uncomprehending. 

 

"Once again Charlie Casey cannot handle not getting what he wants." Phil Lester says to the crowd, all of whom laugh. What's gotten into him, Dan wonders, feeling a sharp prickle of unexpected arousal caressing his skin. The dynamics in here have shifted; Phil has taken control of the situation. "Just like a little kid, he's acting up, throwing a tantrum."

 

"Just shut up and play your stupid song." Charlie snarls, though this time the crowd laugh at him. 

 

Phil sucks a breath in through his teeth, clearly enjoying himself now that the student body are on his side. "Right, because if you can send a  _certain person_ a video of me playing the song live, you think it'll completely obliterate any hope of me and him 'getting together'? Is that the plan?"

 

Heat swirls into Dan's cheeks, and the entirety of his table turn to look at him, apart from the confused-looking hipsters. He ducks behind Louise's shoulder, much to her annoyance. He doesn't quite understand what Phil is saying, but he knows that the person he's referring to must be him. 

 

"Wouldn't think Danny would be too happy to know you played that embarrassing little number to the whole school, would you?" Charlie replies with a smirk. 

 

"But what does it all achieve, really?" Phil asks, sighing at Charlie. "So Amanda is a social outcast." Charlie grimaces at the mention of her name, and several people let out shocked little gasps, including Zoe and Louise. "So Dan hates me. It doesn't get you anywhere, Charlie. I can't stand you."

 

Charlie blinks in shock at this last statement. His mouth falls open a little way, and he seems unable to speak, suddenly. 

 

"What, is that a surprise?" Phil asks him. "You're an insanely jealous, unbelievably selfish dick that makes my life very difficult. I've tried being nice, and giving you a chance. But the things you've done are horrible. I honestly wish you'd just leave me alone." 

 

"Fuck me," Louise breathes, sounding awestruck, "I know Charlie's a dick, hell everyone does, but nobody's ever actually _told_ him."

 

Charlie is standing very still. Dan likens him to a jack in the box, wound to the very precipice of the jumping point, ready to burst at any second. Phil stares him down coolly, seeming rather powerful from his position high on stage, lit with the stage lights. 

 

After a minute or so, Charlie lets out a noise of frustration, then turns on his heel, stalking to the back of the room. People laugh and cheer, patting him on the back as he pushes through them. Dan raises his eyebrows in shock at the whole exchange. 

 

"Sorry about the interruption folks, had a slight technical dick- I mean _hitch_ there." Phil says into the microphone, smiling at his own joke. The whole room, not just the BRG kids, laugh at that, having watched the whole scene unfold. "Now, back to the tunes." He pauses, his fingers held in their positions on the neck of the guitar. He turns to Chris and PJ, who have been laughing and egging Phil on throughout the whole thing, and they nod at him fervently. "Who wants to hear me play this song that everyone's talking about, then?"

 

A loud chorus of 'yes's' erupt from everyone's lips; Dan's pretty sure he's the only one who stays quiet. Honestly though, at this point, he's anxious to hear it too. 

 

Phil laughs at the crowd's reaction. "Okay, okay, calm down. We'll play it."

 

The stage lights dim to a soft spotlight on each of the boys, and Dan immediately shrinks down in his seat, knowing that Phil can see out now. 

 

“This is our last song.” Phil tells the room, his smile fading slightly as the nerves kick back in. He swallows, adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flick over the sea of faces. “You might've noticed that there's some... controversy around it." A soft chuckle spreads over everyone. “I wrote it about..." Dan stops breathing for a second, wondering if Phil will say his name. "...someone. I wrote it at like, two in the morning, because that's when this person seems most... himself. Not that I know, I suppose..." Phil takes a deep breath in and lets it out, the sound of his exhale echoing around the room. Dan stares at him from over Louise's shoulder. He doesn't think he's ever felt how he feels right now. Terrified, but desperate. Sick with the thought of what's to come, and also dizzily elated with it. "I suppose I thought he'd never hear it, so it's pretty... personal. I guess that's why he didn't exactly warm to it when he found out about it. Anyway, I'm rambling. I hope you guys like it more than he did. This is _Two Doors Down_.”

 

Dan's mouth is slightly parted, and there's a small wrinkle between his eyebrows as his mind works furiously to figure out what Phil means. Some of what he's saying doesn't seem to fit with his own interpretation of the situation at hand. He feels like he's missing something vitally important here, like he's jumped to some ridiculous conclusion again. Before he can work out what it might be however, he feels Louise's shoulder tensing beneath his hands, and then Chris starts to play.

 

It begins with a steady, slower rhythm, Chris plucking gently at the stings. After a few bars, PJ joins in, layering a sweet, catchy repeated riff. Then Phil starts to sing.

 

_“I think I’m in love,_

_With the boy next door,”_

Dan’s eyes widen; his mouth goes dry. _What?_   

 

_“It’s driving me crazy,_

_I can’t take it anymore,”_

Louise turns to Dan, letting his hands fall from her shoulders. She wears a hesitant smile, watching him closely for his reaction. Dan turns his gaze to her, radiating pure, unfiltered confusion. ‘What?’ he mouths at her, and she gives him a ‘duh’ look. 

 

This can't be the song about him, he reasons. This must be another controversial song that Phil has written. About someone else entirely.

 

 _“I hear him playing the drums late at night,”_ Phil sings, eyes slipping closed as he strums along to the melody, seeming to fall into it.

 

Oh.

 

Well that rules that explanation out. Dan’s mouth seems unable to close, and he stares, perplexed, at the boy on stage. This can't be real, he decides. This must all be a sleep-deprived dream, and an exceptionally kind one at that. _This_ is Phil's song about him? It has to be a joke, surely. That's the only way this makes any sense. 

 

_“The neighbours complain but that’s the kind of guy I like…”_

“Oh my God.” Louise breathes in a giddy, giggly voice. “I can’t quite believe this is happening.”

 

_“Maybe I should call him up,_

_Invite him around,”_

Dan feels his body growing warm, the shock of it spreading through him like wildfire, until his fingertips start to shake. Phil looks so beautiful, his voice is perfect, and every word he says is like a needle threading into Dan's furiously pounding heart. Part of him wants to run, sprint away and hide in a dark corner, to process this completely. The other half of him wants to tattoo this moment across his memory forever, to live inside this incredible slip of time, because right at this moment, anything seems possible. 

 

 _“…Or maybe I should move to another town.”_ Phil sings, smiling at his own joke. A slightly delirious smile spreads across Dan's face to match, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh.

 

There must be an explanation, Dan thinks, his mind grasping for one wildly. There must be another boy, another late night drummer that Phil has taken inspiration from. Phil Lester does not feel this way about him, the chance of that would be infinitesimal. Phil Lester throws up when he thinks about kissing Dan, he subtly tells him to knock off his drum playing at the bus stop, he doesn’t write sweet, hauntingly beautiful songs about him that are enough to make every 'too-cool-for-this-shit' hipster in this place weep.

 

_“But when I hear those drums late at night,_

_I know I’m in love,_

_With the boy who lives…”_

“ _Two doors down!”_ PJ and Chris sing, their voices harmonising with Phil's, grins plastered on their faces.

 

Dan casts a look around the room; everyone is in raptures, watching them perform. A lot of people are watching Dan himself, desperate to see his live reaction to hearing Phil's words, but mostly people are glued to Phil. And there's no question as to why. This song isn't just lovely, it's _incredible._ Everything about it, from the chords chosen to the carefully thought out words is perfect. There are no hushed conversations happening now. 

 

_“I think I’m in love with the boy who li-i-ives,_

_I think I’m in love with the boy who li-i-ives,_

_I think I’m in love with the boy who li-i-ives,_

_I think I’m in love!”_

Dan turns to Louise slowly, marvelling at her grinning face. “Lou… I don't... why didn't you _tell_ me?”

 

“Because you're a self-deprecating twat that didn't listen to me, Dan.” Louise says, laughing as she shoves him in the shoulder. “I fucking tried to tell you."

 

Dan turns back towards Phil, trying and failing to process Louise's words. He scoots along to the edge of his seat, watching avidly. He feels himself shaking uncontrollably, so unused to anything like this. Phil Lester, his dream guy, is singing about him. And not in a mean, malicious way like Dan originally thought. He's singing about how he... he...  Dan's hands grip the table in front of him as his heart swells impossibly fast, hope surging up within him at the very notion that Phil Lester could actually feel even half the way Dan feels about him. 

 

_“He and his friends sit at the back of the bus,”_

On cue, as if they've been waiting for this line - and maybe they have, Dan realises - Louise, Cat and the others around the table laugh and cheer, raising their glasses in the air at their mention. Dan can't help but join in their laughter, feeling delirious.

 

_“But I’m always too shy to work the courage up._

_I hear that he likes to dance around the room,_

_To a worn out twelve-inch of Bellamy’s Muse,”_

Tears start to prick at Dan’s eyes, as the idea that this might actually be real starts slowly filtering through his walls of doubt. He can’t keep the grin off his face, suddenly. It's madness, insanity even, to think that all this time, as he’d been blasting Muse and slamming his drumset to fend off the loneliness, Phil had been listening four walls away, wanting him this much.

 

_“Maybe I should say ‘what’s up?’,_

_Invite him around,_

_Take him for a spin around the town._

_But when I hear those drums late at night,_

_I know I’m in love,_

_With the boy who lives…_

_Two doors down!”_

Phil ascends into the chorus again, smiling now as Chris and PJ fill in the gaps with their ‘two doors down’ harmonies. Dan is a trembling wreck by now, unsure what to do with himself or how the hell he's going to proceed. Phil has no idea he’s even here, he realises. He also thinks Dan absolutely despises him, probably, considering Dan's reaction to seeing the page of song lyrics yesterday.

 

Oh, fucking Christ, Dan thinks, remembering. He told Phil to go to hell. And it must have looked to Phil like Dan had read his lyrics before that.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He's fucked this all up so badly with his insecurity. 

 

“Dan, you’ve gotta go up there.” Louise says to him, noticing the look of anguish settling onto his face, no doubt.

 

Phil starts repeating that same line over and over, drilling it into Dan’s brain forever. It's obliterating his every thought, making it impossible to concentrate on anything except-

 

Dan whips his head round to face Louise, going slightly pale. “What?”

 

“Dan, he thinks you _hate_ him! Listen to how he's singing this, he's fucking miserable.” She presses, and Dan gulps, listening to the melancholy tinge Phil gives each line. “You want him, right?”

 

“I-I…” Dan says helpfully, mind short-circuiting.

 

“Don’t try and kid me, Howell. I know you do.” She tells him, and Dan blushes, but doesn’t try to correct her. What would be the point, at this stage? “You want him, and this is just a stab in the dark, but I'd say he's pretty into you as well."

 

Dan stares at Louise blankly, unable to think whatsoever.

 

"For fuck's sake, go and get him!” Louise practically shouts, and then pushes him out of his seat with a hard shove.

 

Dan stands uncertainly, his limbs feeling weak and jelly-like. He grabs his nearly empty mojito off the table, swallowing the dregs in one gulp. It's mostly rum at the bottom, for which he is unfathomably grateful. With that and a look of encouragement from Louise, he turns towards the stage, and before his over-anxious mind can find a way out of it, he plunges forwards into the crowd.

 

* * *

 

 

 

This is so much better than Phil could have imagined. If he could have picked the absolute best case scenario for this evening, this would be it. He'd told Charlie where to go, the crowd adore the song, even the non-BRG kids. Everyone’s dancing and singing along, their arms raised high, wide smiles on their faces. 

 

He's actually managing to enjoy this. Or, at the very least, he can appreciate that the crowd love something that means so much to him. Sure, it hurts a bit to sing these words now that he's well aware Dan loathes him for writing them, but at least other people are happy to hear them. 

 

It won't be much consolation later, when he's alone, Phil knows. But right now, it's a nice feeling. He's happy for Chris and PJ too. They don't have to deal with the pain attached to this song, they can just feed off its success, bathe in the glory it's bringing them tonight. So Phil pours his heart into each line, aware that this makes the song a little sadder than he originally intended it to be, but hey. That's art... or something. 

 

His eyes slip closed again, and he waits for his cue at the end of PJ’s guitar solo, already anticipating the applause. 

 

_“Maybe I should call him up,_

_Invite him around,_

_And one day we can move to another town._

_‘Cause when I hear those drums late at night,_

_I know I’m in love…”_

Phil’s eyes open, and his gaze sweeps briefly over the front row. He opens his mouth to sing the final line, and chokes, doing a swift double take.

 

His eyes widen, and his fingers stumble over the chords.

 

There, pushing through to the very front, is Dan.

 

At first, he's sure he's imagining it. Dan hates him. There's no way he would show up here to hear the song he can't stand sung by the boy he despises. Phil blinks, waiting for the sight of him to dissipate. But it doesn't. Dan looks up at him, and they lock eyes. All of the colour drains from Phil’s face, and suddenly he can’t sing a note.

 

He feels PJ and Chris' confused stares, along with their panic when they realise Phil has missed his cue.

 

They repeat the same four bars, not knowing what else to do, and then repeat them again, waiting for Phil to jump in. The effect is a prolonged, noticeable wait, filled only by the melody of the song.

 

Phil stares down at Dan, shell-shocked, unable to believe that he’s here. He's heard everything, Phil realises. He undoubtedly witnessed Phil and Charlie's entire heated exchange, not to mention the whole of the song. 

 

He waits for Dan to hurl more abuse, for him to demand that Phil stop playing at once. Heck, he's prepared for Dan to crawl up here and smack him in the nose. 

 

But then, something inconceivable happens.

 

Dan smiles.

 

It starts off small, the corner of his pink mouth lifting into a tiny smirk. Then it grows bit by bit, stretching wide and full, his white teeth gleaming, his eyes sparkling. He looks radiant, and utterly elated. 

 

Phil stares in disbelief, something flickering to life in his core, igniting a flame of hope that he thought went out long ago.

 

Dan is smiling at him. Dan doesn't hate him. Dan is happy. Phil has played the song, Dan has heard the song, and Dan is happy.

 

His brain, which has retreated to a childlike level of simplicity in order to process what's going on, falters for ten long seconds, during which time Phil stares at Dan, speechless. The crowd gaze up at him expectantly, confused by the hold up, their collective breaths held as they realise what's happening. 

 

The sight of Dan before him is all of a sudden so brilliant that it's making Phil weak. The blinding image of this boy's smile blows softly on the embers of hope in his belly, sending a furious, roaring fire of joy soaring through his veins, burning the despair right out of him. His eyes start to prick with hot tears of disbelief.

 

Dan doesn't hate him, his brain repeats like a mantra. Dan doesn't hate him. Far from it, it would seem. 

 

The melody of the song swims back into Phil’s ears; not knowing what else to do, he counts the bars carefully, searching for his cue. His eyes never leave Dan's.

 

He is the most beautiful thing Phil has ever seen.

 

_“In love with the boy who lii-iiives…”_

 

The next actions Phil takes don't seem to be consciously decided upon. He lets his instinct take over, allows his brain to shut off and his desire to take control. PJ and Chris watch in further confusion as Phil lifts the guitar over his head and places it on the floor. They take over, unsurely, their voices combining to continue the repeated lines of the chorus, and Phil jumps off the stage.

 

He takes slow, deliberate steps past the shallow line of people separating him from Dan, though he seems to be in front of him in seconds. The room is filled with his music, with that line that he wrote at 2am to the sound of Dan's drums. Phil realises he's holding his breath. Dan stares at him, his smile still in place, though smaller now, more anxious. 

 

For a moment, Phil is too stunned by Dan's proximity to move. He's not sure he's ever been this close to something so perfect before. Dan sucks in a tiny, shaky breath, and Phil realises that somehow, in a crazy twist of fate that makes no sense whatsoever, Dan Howell is nervous too. That tiny glimpse under Dan's skin is all he needs. He reaches out and takes hold of Dan's slim hips, pulling him close. 

 

Dan makes a small noise of surprise, barely audible over Chris and PJ's singing. His hands clutch gently at Phil's wrists; Phil watches in fascination as the brown in Dan's eyes thins to a mere sliver as his pupils dilate. He can't quite believe he's about to do this, but he knows that if he doesn't take this chance, he'll never take another, so he sucks in a shaky breath, preparing himself as best he can.

 

He leans in, and then his lips are on Dan’s, and they're kissing. There are no walls in between them, there is no clumsiness to deal with, no awkward fumbling for words or drunken blunders or misunderstandings. There is just the soft skimming of his lips over Dan's, and the warm tingle that threads through him as their breaths collide. 

 

Something fierce and electric sears through Phil, his every cell on vibrate as he feels Dan against him, closer than he's ever been before. He thought he’d never have this. No matter how many nights he stayed up wishing, or how many drafts of this stupid song he’s written, he never really let himself believe he could have this.

 

Dan's skilled, sure hands ghost up his arms, resting there for a moment before gripping tightly. Phil's own hands stay firmly on Dan's hips, holding him in place as he pushes insistently at his lips, so sure that this is all about to evaporate before his eyes, and he'll wake up in his bed to the sound of distant drums. 

 

Eventually, as his body begs for breath, Phil breaks away from him. He stares, still awestruck, into those chocolate eyes, which stare right back, alight with happiness in a way Phil hasn't seen them before. Belatedly, he realises that people are cheering, whistling, shouting things that he doesn't catch. He also realises that the song, the damn song, is still playing around them. PJ and Chris are still singing, and Phil smiles at the thought. Before he can let coherent thought ground him once more, he takes hold of Dan's wrist and turns, hauling him back up onto the stage.

 

Dan goes with him willingly, apparently more than happy to follow Phil wherever, which is unexpected, but wonderful. The crowd continue to cheer loudly for a reason Phil doesn't understand. Dan stands at his side, winding their hands together, fingers interlocked; Phil stares at him dumbly, then turns to the mic.

 

For the last chorus he sings with his hand entwined with Dan's, the crowd dancing and singing along too. It's a high that he's never experienced, that he wasn't sure existed. 

 

The song ends at last, Chris strumming a final outtro, and Phil leans closer to the microphone, dizzy with the shock of this moment. 

 

“This is Dan." He says, gesturing to the smiling boy beside him. "He lives two doors down from me.”

 

Phil watches the blush spread onto Dan's cheeks as the crowd cheer so loudly that they may as well be playing The O2 stadium. Then, because he is helpless to resist the shy, sweet look on his face, Phil kisses Dan again. Dan kisses back with fervour, his hand on Phil's cheek. Flashes go off around them, and Phil knows that this means people must be taking photos and videos, but it all seems unimportant at this point.  

 

Gossip, rumours, high school drama... it's all irrelevant. 

 

The only thing on this earth that matters is that he has Dan next to him, that Phil can feel the callouses formed from Dan's drumsticks against his skin, that he can taste the sweet mint and rum on Dan's lips, that Dan doesn't hate him, not by far. 

 

* * *

 

 

Dan’s in an actual green room, backstage in a music venue. He’s holding an actual beer in one hand, and Phil Lester’s actual hand in the other.

 

He’s ninety percent sure he’s dreaming, but it doesn't detract from how perfect this moment seems.

 

Phil keeps sneaking cute little glances at him, which is making Dan blush so much that he's sure he's tomato-red at this point. He barely knows what to say. This whole night has been so surreal.

 

Chris runs up to them then, seeming very excitable. “Well, aren't you two just sickening?” He says, grinning. Dan doesn’t miss the warning glare Phil sends him, but he doesn’t comment. “Dan, as Phil’s best friend, it’s my duty to inform you of the unfortunate news that he’s a total nerd.”

 

Dan laughs, and Phil rolls his eyes. “That’s okay. So am I.”

 

Phil glances at him again with that look of admiration; Dan can’t bear to look directly at it, it’s too sweet. He drinks his beer instead.

 

“So, I think we all know the big question here.” Chris says, his voice grave, and Dan looks at him, suddenly nervous. Phil's hand tightens in his.

 

“Watch it, Chris.” Phil says in a low voice that makes Dan shudder, embarrassingly.

 

Luckily, nobody seems to notice.

 

“What’s the big question?” PJ asks, wandering over towards them.

 

He’d been talking to a pretty curly-haired brunette girl from a band that called themselves _Manic Pixie Dream Bitch_. Chris had been watching their exchange with a look of disapproval, Dan had noticed.

 

Chris shoots him an annoyed glare, which PJ ignores.

 

“The question is…” He says, clearing his throat. “Dan Howell.” Dan freezes, wondering where this is going. “Will you be our drummer?”

 

“Oh god, yes.” PJ agrees, nodding with enthusiasm. “Please, Dan. We’re desperate and you’re amazing.”

 

Dan flushes, not knowing what to say. “Y-your drummer? But… You guys don’t even know if I'm any good.” Dan protests, feeling very anxious all of a sudden. Where is this coming from? “I could be awful at drumming for all you know.”

 

“Not according to Phil’s long, torturous descriptions of how _amazing_ and _brilliant_ and _talented_ you are.” Chris says, rolling his eyes as though he’s had to listen to a lot of this kind of thing. “Not to mention how _gorgeous_ and _sexy_ and _mysterious_ you are- ow!”

 

Phil kicks Chris in the shin, glaring at him. Dan smirks into his beer bottle, cheeks pink.

 

“Ignore him, please.” Phil says gruffly, turning to Dan and squeezing his hand again. The action makes Dan’s heart flutter. Christ, he thinks as he looks at Phil, it actually hurts to stare into those cerulean eyes. “But you are amazing, Dan.”

 

Dan’s eyebrows lift, and Phil blushes, much to Dan’s surprise.

 

“At- at the drums, I mean.” He says hastily, averting his eyes.

 

“Smooth.” PJ says, laughing.

 

“Well…” Dan says, and they all look at him hopefully. “I guess I could… try out?”

 

They all whoop excitedly, and Phil drops his hand in order to wind an arm around his waist, which makes Dan want to explode with joy. A few guys from the Wonderwall Killers come over then, congratulating the band on their successful set. Dan moves away a little, slipping out of Phil’s embrace to let him soak up the glory in private.

 

He means to slink off now, to let Phil get on with things now that the madness is over with. If he wants to speak to Dan again, about anything, he knows where to find him after all. He doesn't want to spoil this perfect night by lingering too long, becoming a nuisance. 

 

As soon as Dan gets two steps towards the door however, there’s a cautious hand on his arm. He turns, surprised, to see Phil, who’s looking at him worriedly.

 

“Hey, are you alright?” He asks, his voice soft and sweet. God, Dan just wants to kiss that look of concern right off his face.

 

He tries to gain control of himself, smiling at Phil reassuringly. “Yeah, of course.”

 

Phil smiles back, and then dithers uncertainly. Dan’s about to tell him that it’s fine, he can go back to PJ and Chris, that he doesn’t have to hang out with him, but before he can get the words out, Phil is speaking.

 

“Listen, Dan,” Phil begins, his fingers twisting together nervously. “I just wanted to say… I know you’ve basically said you’re okay with it and everything, but I know it’s kind of weird.” Dan looks puzzled, tilting his head at Phil. “I mean, I wrote a song about you. I didn't ask your consent or anything, I just did it and you had no idea. I understand why you were pissed about it at first when Charlie showed it to everyone at school. I mean, it's... pretty uncool of me to just make you the subject of a song without asking."

 

“Phil…” Dan tries to say, needing Phil to know that he isn't angry, and never should have been, but Phil interrupts him.

 

“Out there, when you were in the crowd, and you… when we…” Phil blows a frustrated puff of air upwards, making his fringe flutter. “All I’m saying is, if you got a little carried away with everything back there, I understand. I know we… kissed or whatever, but if you want to just be friends, or even if you want things to go back to how they were, that’s… y’know, okay with me.”

 

Phil looks exhausted once he stops talking, as though that took all he could muster to say aloud. Dan is a little speechless.

 

Good grief Phil Lester is a nice guy. He’s offering a chance for Dan to back out of this whole thing, even after everything just happened. As if he’d even consider it.

 

“Phil, I never actually read the lyrics yesterday.” Dan admits quietly, stepping a little closer to him. Phil's eyebrows raise in surprise. “I assumed the worst and thought your song about me would be horrible, but I should have known you would never do something like that. I... guess I have a hard time believing anyone could think of me like that. Let alone... you." Dan blushes, his hand reaching up to rub his neck. "I mean, I've been crushing on you for weeks."  

 

"Really?" Phil asks, his voice practically a whisper.

 

Dan shrugs, quirking a tiny smile. "Yeah. I can't believe that this whole time you..." Dan trails off, biting his lip. He smirks as Phil's eyes latch onto the sight. "Louise is gonna be so fucking smug about this."

 

Phil grins at that, rolling his eyes a little.

 

Dan is unable to stop himself imagining Louise's reaction next time he speaks to her. She'll probably-

 

"Oh, _crap_!" Dan exclaims suddenly.

 

Phil, who is looking pretty damn happy, jumps a little in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I forgot about Louise!” Dan says, freaking out slightly. “Crap, she has no idea where I am and we came here together. I really have to find her.”

 

Phil looks a little disappointed when Dan says this, but nods. “Okay.”

 

Suddenly, Dan remembers saying this to Phil before, back at Louise’s party. It had been a very obvious lie.

 

“I’m not trying to make excuses, I swear.” Dan assures him, and Phil chuckles, nodding. “She'll be so pissed if she has to leave without me, oh God and I have our coatroom token… can we finish talking about this soon?”

 

Phil smiles, though he still looks a little disheartened. “Yeah, sure.”

 

Not knowing how to resolve things, Dan thinks for a moment, then digs into his pocket for his phone.

 

He unlocks it and holds it out to Phil. “Can I have your number?”

 

Phil bursts into laughter, but nods, taking the phone from him. He enters his number, still giggling, and Dan takes it, unable to help smiling too.

 

“Shut up, okay?” Dan says, pushing Phil lightly in the shoulder. “I’m not exactly a practiced flirt.”

 

Phil grins, then turns the full force of his azure stare onto Dan. “Could’ve fooled me. ”

 

Dan swallows, Phil's magnetic pull making him sway forwards. “So… I guess I’ll see you around?”

 

“Mm,” Phil confirms, his face inching closer to Dan’s. “I’m probably more likely to hear you around…”

 

Dan laughs softly, and then Phil’s kissing him again, lightning bolts shooting through his veins. He feels his skin burning where Phil touches it, their hands twining, Phil’s mouth firm and soft at once, both demanding and desperate.

 

When Phil finally breaks away, Dan sways a little on the spot, feeling dazed.

 

“Till 2am, then?” Dan jokes, his voice sounding way more wanton than he would have ideally liked.

 

“I’ll be listening.” Phil assures him, and then Dan forces himself to leave, otherwise he never would, and Louise would disown him as a friend.

 

He casts a quick glance back at Phil before he exits, catching his eye one last time and smiling.

 

* * *

 

 **Fr: Unknown Number**  
**To: Phil Lester**  
**11:59pm**  
It feels weird texting you when I know  
you're so close by

 

 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
**To: Dan Howell**  
**00:00am**  
I could send a carrier pigeon? 

 **Fr: Unknown Number**  
**To: Phil Lester**  
**00:00am**  
Might be difficult to train one

 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
**To: Dan Howell**  
**00:00am**  
You underestimate my power

 

 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:01am**  
After tonight, I'm never underestimating  
your powers again. Did that really happen?  
  
  
 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
 **To: Dan Howell**  
 **00:01am**  
Ah, my rockstar moves sweep yet another  
unsuspecting audience member off their  
feet, I see  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:01am**  
Oh, so you do the same 'moves' at every  
gig? Interesting...  
  
  
 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
 **To: Dan Howell**  
 **00:02am**  
Well... one of my moves might be   
exclusively reserved for my muse  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:02am**  
Oh? Which move is that?  
  
  
 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
 **To: Dan Howell**  
 **00:02am**  
Are you asking for a refresher?   
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:03am**  
Maybe...  
  
  
 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
 **To: Dan Howell**  
 **00:03am**  
Meet me in front of Mrs Butterfield's  
house in five x  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:03am**  
Who the fuck is Mrs Butterfield  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:05am**  
...Phil?  
  
  
 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
 **To: Dan Howell**  
 **00:05am**  
She lives in between us Dan wow, way  
to get to know your neighbours  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:05am**  
Oh that poor woman. She's probably  
died of sleep deprivation at this point  
  
  
 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
 **To: Dan Howell**  
 **00:06am**  
She's almost completely deaf, as it happens  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:06am**  
No way! What are the chances?! I mean, that's  
awful for her obvs but still  
  
  
 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
 **To: Dan Howell**  
 **00:06am**  
Pretty sad that she can't hear how amazing  
you are  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:07am**  
Im IRL blushing so you have to stop that  
  
  
 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
 **To: Dan Howell**  
 **00:07am**  
aw <3  
  
  
 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
 **To: Dan Howell**  
 **00:07am**  
Are you coming out here or what? Im freezing  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:07am**  
What?   
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:08am**  
omg ur actually outside  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:08am**  
I can see you from my window!  
  
  
 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
 **To: Dan Howell**  
 **00:08am**  
That's the general idea genius, hurry  
up I'm cold and I wanna kiss you again  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:09am**  
ur actually insane aren't you, aren't u a   
literal ice cube at this point??  
  
  
 **Fr: Phil Lester**  
 **To: Dan Howell**  
 **00:09am**  
Almost. Come keep me warm  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:10am**  
That was the cheesiest line ever  
  
  
 **Fr: Dan Howell**  
 **To: Phil Lester**  
 **00:10am**  
Be right down x  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! Leave a comment if you enjoyed! x


End file.
